Encapsulation
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: Extractions steal ideas. Inceptions plant ideas. Encapsulations trap ideas, but can it ever be reversed? Arthur hopes so.  Post-movie team mission-fic.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to the insanely talented Christopher Nolan. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—I can't seem to get these characters out of my head, so we'll visit them for a bit. Thanks to the wonderful and "awesome" Night_Lotus for the assist with the beta! I couldn't have done this without you! Many, many thanks. Also, I have to thank my UK v US English expert, basched. Between my US-itude and your UK-iness, I think we figured it out. ;) And bless you for helping without having seen the movie yet! I'm sure you'll like it when the DVD is finally released.

Encapsulation—Extractions steal ideas. Inceptions plant ideas. Encapsulations trap ideas, but can it ever be reversed? Arthur hopes so. Post-movie team mission-fic.

* * *

He hadn't been stateside in a while. Working with someone who couldn't set foot on U.S. soil meant he stayed pretty internationally himself. But, after the Saito job, after a successful Inception, home was all any of them wanted.

Arthur hadn't seen his sister in over eight months. Being on the run, on the lam, didn't offer many opportunities for him to contact family. He often learned about events after the fact. He'd been on a job in Cairo. He was so focused on the mission, he neglected his email for three months. Within that time, he'd gotten a message from his sister that their father had died. Even if he'd wanted to get home, he'd already missed the funeral by six weeks.

While he felt bad about that, he had never been particularly close with the man.

Each message from Penelope was like a totem, a grounding moment. Some were just generic messages, talking about something that had happened that day that was out of the ordinary. Some were well wishes for him, congratulations on a job well done or happiness on his birthday.

He was fairly certain he was the only person in the world who sent belated thanks for an on-time birthday e-card. But, the timing, however odd, was just the way his life worked.

He climbed out of the car, a paper-wrapped bouquet of brightly colored Gerbera daisies in his hands. He hadn't told her he was coming home-he never did. He much preferred the genuine look of surprise on her face whenever he popped up in her world.

Leaning casually against the trunk, he watched the front door of the immaculate medical building across the street. His sister worked in a beautiful office, a place that was conducive to study and growth. She was one of the leading scientists who still believed that shared-dream technology could open the door to new ideas, new advancements. She had the potential to make his profession more legal.

The one thing he hated was how predictable she was. Penelope made it easy for him to find her, but, by the same token, for others to find her, too. She always left the office at the same time, took the same routes home, frequented the same stores, the same restaurants and coffee shops.

He'd tried to assure her the last time, that he could find her no matter what she did. The thought hadn't stuck.

The scientist in her found the quickest way from point a to point b. She liked the economical aspects of it, both for time and money.

He never would've imagined, as children, that they would've grown into the adults they'd become. It was a miracle either of them had survived their tender years. Their father had been an alcoholic, their mother, a depressed, abusive woman.

He was infinitely proud of his little sister. She'd worked her way through college the hard way, scraping by, going hungry. She'd fought for it.

He'd gone a different way. He'd joined the military. While he had to fight, too, their battlegrounds had been completely different.

Rubbing absently at his forehead, he glanced up just in time to see the brunette exit the building. "Right on time," he murmured, glancing at the silver watch on his wrist.

She wore a tailored oxford in a pale pink with a black pencil skirt, her feet encased in sensible heels. Her long dark hair had been pulled back but as she walked, she tugged the pins from the shoulder-length tresses, letting the loose curls spill around her neck.

He crossed the street, arriving on the sidewalk just in front of her as she absently slid the pins into her purse. "Penelope."

She glanced up in mid-step.

For a half a second, her eyes held startled disbelief. As that half-second passed, it was replaced with surprise and joy. Her entire face lit up. "Arthur!"

He accepted the warm hug she offered, careful to ensure her flowers didn't get crushed.

"I can't believe you're here," she whispered, closing her dark brown eyes.

"It's good to see you, too," he said. "I, uh... brought you something."

She pulled back. "You didn't have to."

"C'mon. You've had a breakthrough. We should celebrate. Dinner on me tonight," he said as he offered her the brightly-colored daisies.

She blinked, thoroughly confused. "Breakthrough?" She graciously accepted the bouquet, however.

"You said, the last time we spoke on the phone, that you'd figured it out. The dream-like state." How could she have forgotten her own life's work? Her discovery that was going to revolutionize shared-dreaming?

As he looked into her all-too-familiar eyes, he realized something was wrong. She had no idea what he was talking about. He could see the wheels in her head crank up to top gear as she struggled to remember.

Her smile was soft but almost sad. "Arthur... I haven't figured out anything spectacular. Certainly not the dream-like state. It's... it's a myth," she said. "It can't _be_ proven." She rubbed a silky petal between her fingers. "Maybe you dreamt our conversation."

He knew better than that but he didn't want to upset her. "Maybe. But, I can take my little sister out to dinner anyway, right?"

Her gorgeous smile blossomed again. "You can definitely do that."

Arthur smiled slightly back, but it was a touch guarded this time. As he led her back across the street to his waiting car, he slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the weighted red die, just to make sure.

* * *

He sat on the patio of the coffee shop the next morning, hidden beneath the table's large umbrella. The sunshine did little to lighten his mood, and the caffeine hadn't given his system a jump-start yet. It was still in his cup, untouched.

He was far more interested with the number of times the five rolled on the die. In dreams, his die could hit any number. In reality, only the five appeared. It had been one half of a weighted set, a pair. He knew exactly the number of rough scuff marks on the ruby-red skin, which pips were slightly discolored, and which corners were less than square. He was intimately familiar with it.

He'd made a lot of money with it and its mate once upon a time.

"What's wrong?"

He had just let the die fly, and it rolled across the table, the five still showing. He cleared his throat, grabbing his totem again and sliding it into his pocket in one smooth motion as he stood. "Ariadne."

"Arthur," she returned with a hint of a smile on her lips. It faded, however, when she asked again. "What's wrong?"

He gestured for her to have a seat. Only when she was settled did he ease back down. "I have a proposition."

"Um... okay..."

"It's... it's a job," he said, glancing at her.

"Another Inception?"

He shook his head.

"An Extraction, then?"

"It's not either," he said, looking up at her. "I'm not entirely sure how feasible it is, to be honest."

"What's the job?" she asked.

He reached into his jacket, pulling a photo from the interior pocket. He looked at his sister's smiling face for a moment before showing it to her.

For a moment, Ariadne felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. "She's stunning. Who is she?"

He avoided the question somewhat. "She's a shared-dreaming analyst, a researcher. I have reason to believe she's been subjected to a questionable procedure."

She arched an eyebrow. "Reason to believe?" she repeated.

"She'd made a breakthrough. She'd discovered a way to access and open a portion of the brain through the shared-dream that would allow more of the brain to function during normal waking hours. They call it the dream-like state. It was her life's work. She has since forgotten all about it."

"How do you just _forget_ something like that?"

"There's a process, a procedure that can be done in a deep sleep, through several layers of dreams. It takes a portion of your knowledge, something you know to be true, and it locks it away. It doesn't erase it, it just hides it deep within the subconscious."

"That sounds... wrong," Ariadne said, stealing his cup of coffee and taking a sip.

"It's a lot more questionable than either Extraction or Inception. But there are those out there who are exceptionally good at Encapsulation. So, my..." He caught himself before saying _sister_. "My proposal," he said, "would be to go into the analyst's mind, to try to seek out where they've Encapsulated her ideas, and give them back to her."

She sat back in her chair, pondering. "Can it even be done?"

"I didn't think Inception could be done, but Fischer-Morrow is no more," he said, referring to the energy conglomerate that they'd helped destroy through planting the seed of an idea in the magnate's mind.

She took another sip of coffee. Casually, she picked up the photo, watching as Arthur seemed especially on edge now that she was holding it again. "You're much more like Cobb than I realized," she said.

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I'm not going back under with you or him or _anybody _until I know the whole story," she said, setting the photo and cup down. She stood and started to walk off.

He caught her hand roughly, startling her.

Her breath caught in her throat, however, when she heard his quiet plea. She'd misread his pain as annoyance, his emotion as his prickly demeanor. She'd had him all wrong.

"I need your help, Ariadne. You're the only one who can design the levels."

"Who is she, Arthur?"

He looked up at her, slowly releasing her hand. "She's my sister."

Ariadne sat back down.

"The only way _that_ much of her memory could be gone is through Encapsulation," he said. "She has long-term memory, short-term memory. She remembers the last time I called her, the last time she saw me. She remembers what she had to eat yesterday and what her favorite foods are. She knows where she works, what she does. She just doesn't remember her discovery."

"How do you know about it?"

"She'd been on the verge of a breakthrough for six months. When she finally cracked it, she called me, told me. Trust me. She knew."

"Well, maybe it didn't work."

"If it didn't work, she would've told me it didn't work. Yesterday, she told me it wasn't possible at all, it was a myth, that nobody could prove the theory."

"She didn't say she didn't remember," she pointed out.

"She didn't have to. It was clear on her face. Somebody stole that from her, Ariadne. I intend to get it back for her."

"She's just going to let you waltz into her dreams? To find it?"

He hesitated.

In that moment, another thought entered her head. "How do you know she wants it back?"

"How can she know what's missing if she doesn't know it's gone?"

She opened her mouth but closed it.

"I can't do this without you," he said.

Reluctantly, finally, she nodded. "But, we won't be able to do it, just the two of us, will we?"

He shook his head soberly.

* * *

Eames watched, mildly amused, as Arthur made laps in front of the assembled group. It was, for the most part, the group who had accomplished the Fischer Inception. Cobb, the extractor, Yusuf, the chemist, Ariadne, the architect, Arthur, the point man, and himself, the forger. All they were missing was Saito, the tourist and client. He nudged Yusuf with his elbow. "It's Old Home week."

"Wasn't sure I'd see any of you again," the chemist admitted.

"Leave it to the brain trust over there," Eames said, glancing up as Cobb tried to settle Arthur to no avail. "Shall we get this show on the road?" he asked loudly. "Or is the flight from Tokyo running behind? Our man Saito stuck in a holding pattern some thirty-thousand feet up? Some of us have exciting job offers to contend with."

Eames took special delight in annoying the by-the-book point man. There was no humor around the younger man. Everything he said could only be taken one way, at face value. He was an easy target. Eames thought a former Marine should've handled himself better.

Cobb glanced up at Arthur. "Are we waiting for someone?"

Arthur shook his head.

Ariadne offered the point man a stack of file folders.

"Encapsulation," Arthur began, handing them out.

"If that's the job, you can count me out right now," Eames said, disgusted.

Cobb took a moment from reviewing his folder to shoot the forger a look.

"Hey, even scoundrels have lines they don't cross. Very nice knowing you all, but if anyone asks if I've ever met you, the answer I'll give is no and I ask that you kindly return the favor," he said, buttoning his suit jacket as he stood.

Arthur held a folder out to him. "Our client wants us to _undo_ one."

"Un..." He drifted off, shaking his head. "Undo an Encapsulation? And you vetted this client, did you?" he said, still unwilling to take the mission information. "You didn't even think we could perform an Inception, and here you are, upping the ante _considerably_, darling."

Annoyed, Arthur hit Eames in the chest with the folder. "Hear what I have to say first, and then decide. Or are you _that_ unreliable?"

Eames cleared his throat, glancing around the rest of the room. Yusuf was smiling behind his hand. Cobb's blue eyes were cool. Ariadne was far more concerned with the pulsing vein in Arthur's forehead than anything about him. "Well, guess I can hear a fairytale before I go, Arthur." He sat down. "Do tell."

"Encapsulation is still a relatively new idea. Instead of walking into a shared dream and removing secrets, or planting them, this requires a team to remove every memory, every emotion ever tied to a certain event or person or thing, and to lock it deep within the subconscious. Not only does the victim forget what's been Encapsulated, they don't even remember the process, or what was left in its wake."

"Oh, the good part," muttered Eames.

Arthur ignored the forger as best he could. His anger was seething just beneath the surface. "In the aftermath of an Encapsulation, the subconscious is trained to keep even the victim at bay within the dreams. If we get remotely close to where the information is being held, the subconscious, in an attempt to protect the mark as well as the Encapsulated memories, is worse than any subconscious ever trained by mere Extractors."

"How deeply do we have to go to discover the Encapsulated memories?" Yusuf asked, already considering concoctions to brew.

"Nobody bloody knows," Eames said idly, flipping through his file folder. He stopped when he reached the photograph of the scientist. The easy smile, the dark hair and mesmerizing eyes. She might be worth _meeting_ at the very least.

"It could be three levels... it could be more," Cobb answered.

"More than three levels...?" Yusuf shook his head. "It was tricky enough with Fischer's Inception. I can't imagine going deeper."

"It's the same principal, isn't it?" Ariadne asked. "Build a maze, create the safe location, and that's where the subconscious stores the secrets?"

"In theory, sure," Cobb said. "In practice? Not with an Encapsulation. The conscious part, the dreamer part... she won't know what's missing. She won't know what to fill the safe with. It's the overactive subconscious that knows where the bodies are buried. And they will be protecting that place violently."

"So, in other words... we go deeper than three levels, we're sedated... we have the potential of dying in Limbo again. As I said before, this is _delightful,_ whoever thought this up." Eames stood, closing the dossier on the mission. "I'll hand it to you, Arthur, you picked a pretty girl, but I don't think she's worth it."

The point man snapped, rushing at the forger, who hadn't expected _that_ kind of a reaction. Eames was caught flatfooted as Arthur tackled him against the concrete floor.

"Arthur!" Ariadne called, moving to help.

Yusuf caught her, holding her back, as Cobb stepped in to try to break up the fight.

It was a struggle, pulling Arthur off of Eames, but eventually Cobb managed.

"What... I always thought you were a little _off_, Arthur, but I really wouldn't have expected you to go quite so damned insane over my refusing to take a job."

"She is worth it," Arthur growled, his face still red.

"Well, give her my regards," Eames said, forcing himself to stand up straight. He didn't want to admit that the point man had done damage to him, but his back was sore, and his mouth was bleeding. He didn't want to think about the fact that he might have a black eye, either. He offered a half-salute to Cobb before turning to leave.

"Eames," Ariadne called.

Against his better judgment, Eames hesitated.

"Don't you have family? Someone you'd do anything for?" she asked.

He turned, glancing back at her. "The scientist..." He looked at Arthur. "Your wife?" he guessed.

"My sister."

He actually cracked a smile. "Your sister? Well... why didn't you say so?"

"Sis... sister?" Yusuf asked.

"I'm the client," Arthur said, brushing himself off. He straightened his suit and ran his fingers through his dark hair. "My sister needs help."

"How do we do this?" Eames asked, looking at Cobb.

"We're going to have to trick her. While she might come into a shared-dream willingly, it wouldn't be to access her own Encapsulated memories. She's going to have to think she's helping us on a job," Cobb explained.

"Lies within lies, dreams within dreams... what a tangled web we weave." Eames spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. "When do we start?"

Cobb looked at the architect. "We need four levels of mazes at least. And these have to be spectacular."

Ariadne nodded.

"There's one thing, Cobb," Arthur said. "She knows me, she knows you. I made the mistake of telling her about Ariadne last night. And, I can't leave her, no matter how many levels."

Cobb sighed, nodding.

"That sounds like that was more than one thing," Eames commented.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Cobb asked, looking at Eames.

"Arthur can't count?"

"Your job in this deception," Cobb said, clapping the forger on the shoulder harder than was necessary, "means that you and Arthur will be descending all the levels together."

Eames winced at the contact and that realization. "Wait, wait... me? Didn't I get punished enough already for speaking out of turn?" he asked, gently probing the tender skin around his left eye.

"Penelope is a smart girl. Considering the only two members of our team she doesn't know anything about are you and Yusuf, it's got to be you," Cobb said simply.

"Penelope? Were your parents sadists with names like _Arthur_ and _Penelope_? Could they have been any more old-fashioned?" Eames asked.

Arthur closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten.

"Please tell me there's a nickname somewhere. Art and Penny, perhaps?" Still not getting the rise he'd hoped for, Eames decided to move on. He couldn't resist one brief parting shot before switching tactics. "Well, she is a pretty Penny..." He cleared his throat. "I'm not entirely sure this is your brightest bulb ever, Cobb. I mean, how do we know what we're looking for? Encapsulation is not an art in which I have dabbled."

Cobb and Arthur exchanged a long look.

"Oh, but you two have. Well, that's lovely," he said. "And here I thought _I_ was a lowlife. How silly of me."

"It probably would be best," Cobb began, "for you and Ariadne to get a field demonstration, so that you know what you're looking for and she knows what design issues might arise."

"Whose mind do we go into?" Arthur asked.

"Not mine, mate," Eames said quickly. "I don't trust you two enough to go scrambling in my memories."

"It shouldn't be Ariadne either," said Cobb, processing. He looked expectantly at Arthur.

The point man sighed. "If that's what it takes."

"Oh, excellent," grinned Eames. "What shall we have you forget, hmm? Might we erase the like he has of that hairstyle? Garish, really. Makes him look like a hoodlum."

Cobb wondered if it was such a good idea, letting Arthur and Eames descend all levels of Penelope's dreams together. "Ariadne! Yusuf! Get the equipment together. We're going under." He headed over, to pull the chairs closer together, to help them get ready for a shared dream.

Arthur and Eames regarded each other for a long moment.

"Thank you," Arthur managed, the words only getting stuck in his throat a little.

Eames shrugged. "Don't mention it."

There was another awkward moment as Ariadne unfastened the case, as Yusuf set about unwinding the IV tubes.

"Sorry about what I said," Eames muttered, looking anywhere but at the point man. "About Penny."

"Penelope," Arthur corrected automatically.

"Come now, that is a mouthful."

"Just try calling her something shorter," he said sharply, crossing toward the center grouping.

"She looks like a Penny," Eames whispered to himself before joining the rest of the group.

"Five minutes, Yusuf," Cobb said, stretching out and closing his eyes.

"On the clock," announced the chemist.

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

Cobb smiled, pulling a handgun from the back waistband of his pants. He held the gun to his own head, looking squarely at Eames. "Give me one minute."

"Give-" Eames sighed as the extractor vanished from view. "Bloody hell," he muttered, looking at Ariadne. "Do you know what that was all about?"

Ariadne shrugged.

Eames looked at his watch. Only twenty seconds had elapsed. He pulled a gun from a holster on his hip, resting his finger on the trigger. He counted slowly another ten seconds, then decided he was done waiting. He aimed it at Ariadne. "No hard feelings," he said before firing a shot.


	2. Chapter 2

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Penelope is a scientist who discovered a new way to use the shared-dreaming technology, but she doesn't remember. Arthur is convinced she's been the victim of Encapsulation, a process by which a memory is hidden deep within the subconscious. He gathers the team to perform a daring mission, to undo Penelope's Encapsulation. While the others seem game, Eames isn't at first, not until the piece of information missing from the briefing is revealed: that Penelope is Arthur's sister.

* * *

It was unsettling to see New York completely devoid of any people whatsoever. In a city that was always bustling and filled, it was unnatural for it to be so empty.

Arthur stood in the center of the group, glancing around the deserted street corner. Ariadne moved slightly, to stand a little closer to him. He noted well that Cobb was the only one with gear.

"Encapsulation," Cobb began, "takes place within the dreamer's mind."

"Pretty dreary dream," Eames muttered, taking in the vacant, grimy windows of the buildings that surrounded them.

"Pay attention," Arthur said sharply.

"We're only going into one level of the dream. Anything we Encapsulate here can be easily recovered in the real world. The only side effect the dreamer feels is a fleeting sensation of déjà vu," continued Cobb. "Arthur, what do you remember about your watch?"

Arthur tilted his head slightly. "My watch?"

"Where'd you buy it? Why did you like it?" Cobb asked, sliding the black backpack from his shoulder, setting it on the ground. "Close your eyes. Concentrate."

Arthur sighed a little, but focused on his watch. He'd bought it at a jewelry store in Kiev. The one he'd had before had been smashed in a fight and he'd needed an immediate replacement. The newer watch had served its purpose. It wasn't flashy or opulent. It did exactly what he needed it to.

Cobb, meanwhile, pulled out a small lock box.

"What's-" began Eames.

Cobb shushed him.

Eames sighed a little, quietly crossing to the extractor and kneeling down beside him. "What is that?"

"You'll see," Cobb answered cryptically, opening it and setting it on the pavement between them. He looked at Arthur again. "How much did you pay for it? How many complements have you gotten on it?"

Arthur closed his eyes tighter, remembering back farther.

"What did Penelope say about it? Ariadne?"

Ariadne wondered what she had to do with his watch, why that was important.

"Think about the weight of it, the feel of it. How many times you've changed its battery. How many times you've looked at it. The way the second hand spins, the way the minutes tick by."

Arthur's face contorted slightly, briefly. The tightness in his features gave way.

Cobb recognized his moment when he saw it, taking the watch quickly from the point man's wrist. He dropped it into the lock box, slamming it closed and locking it. "Now, where to hide it?" Cobb muttered.

"That's... that's it? You have them think about whatever it is, and you lock it up in something I could pick in two seconds?" Eames asked.

Cobb glanced back at Arthur. "Look at him. He's out of it."

"I don't see how you could be all that mesmerizing," muttered Eames.

"Ariadne?"

She stepped forward.

He offered her the box. "Take it and hide it. Doesn't matter where."

"But..." She looked at the metal case in her hands.

"Go," Cobb said with a nod.

The brunette dashed off, running down one of the side streets.

Eames slowly approached Arthur. "He's gone, isn't he?"

"Lost within the memory," Cobb said with a nod.

"How long can he stay that way?"

"Depends on the memory, on how much is attached to it. It's a watch, not a state secret. My guess is about two minutes before he wakes up."

"Huh."

"At this point, I'd be teaching his subconscious to protect the box, to not let anyone near it. Not a dreamer, not himself. Given the attachments Penelope would have to have to her life's work, the years she would've invested in it, the time spent at her lab, at her home, eating, sleeping, breathing it... The Encapsulators would've needed a substantial amount of time to train against potential Extraction."

"This sounds better and better." Eames, curious, poked Arthur. The younger man didn't move or seem to acknowledge the touch at all.

Ariadne returned, a little winded, but empty handed.

"It's safe?" Cobb asked. Off her nod, he continued. "Arthur, you lost your watch. The last place you remember it, you were in a cab in downtown New York City. The cab driver was annoying to you. He wasn't interested in where you needed to be, in where you were going or why you were headed in that direction. He thought you were a tourist and needed the grand tour. When you reached deadlocked traffic, you left. You left in such a hurry you forgot your watch. By the time you realized what you'd done, when you tried to go back, you couldn't remember the cab number, the company, or even the driver's name."

Eames watched, amazed, as Arthur gave a slight nod.

Cobb smiled, pulling a handgun from the back waistband of his pants. He held the gun to his own head, looking squarely at Eames. "Give me one minute."

"Give-" Eames sighed as the extractor vanished from view. "Bloody hell," he muttered, looking at Ariadne. "Do you know what that was all about?"

Ariadne shrugged.

Eames looked at his watch. Only twenty seconds had elapsed when he pulled a gun from a holster on his hip. He counted slowly another ten seconds before he decided he was done waiting. He aimed it at Ariadne. "No hard feelings," he said before firing a shot.

* * *

Ariadne opened her eyes, gasping and reaching for where the hole should've been in her chest when she saw movement in front of her.

"Dammit, Eames," Cobb cursed. He rushed to Arthur, fumbling with the point man's watch, finally sliding it off his wrist. He'd barely gotten it hidden when Arthur's dark eyes opened. "You all right?" Cobb asked.

Eames sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Had... had a weird dream," Arthur said, frowning.

"Yeah? Shared dreaming didn't work quite as well as we'd hoped. Yusuf, you're going to have to work on that chemical balance. There was something off with this particular strain of sedative," Cobb said.

Yusuf dumbly nodded. "Um... Sure, Cobb, whatever you... say."

As Cobb moved to stand next to Eames, placing a hand on the forger's shoulder, he asked: "Arthur, you don't happen to have the time, do you?"

Arthur eased his sleeve back, fully expecting to see his watch on his wrist, but it wasn't there. "I... No," he said, shaking his head . "Damned cabdriver..."

"What happened to it?" Eames asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"Took the world's worst cab ride through downtown. Finally got out and, uh... I don't know. I think it must've fallen off in the taxi."

"Do you have time for another dream?" Cobb asked, moving back toward the chair he had vacated. "I want to check something else out."

Ariadne nodded.

"I'm game," Eames said, watching Arthur as the point man eased back. There was an emotion on his face, a confusion. _Could Encapsulation be so simple?_ he wondered.

"Five more minutes, Yusuf," Cobb said.

"Certainly," the chemist said, moving toward the shared-dreaming device in the center of the group, setting the timer and depressing the button.

* * *

Arthur looked around, puzzled.

"The same street corner?" Eames asked.

"Ariadne, you remember where you put the box?" Cobb asked.

"Of course."

"Take Eames with you. See if you can locate it," he said.

"This way," Ariadne said, running down the street.

Eames hesitated a moment, watching as Arthur looked at Cobb, confused.

"Are you coming?" she called.

With a sigh, Eames took off after her.

Ariadne looked at the address numbers, slowly counting up. "Here we go." She led the way through the unlocked door, numbered 122.

It was a row house and, like everything else in Arthur's dream, it was dingy, dark, desolate. It had been abandoned, left decrepit. "Makes you really wonder about your boyfriend's mind, doesn't it?"

Ariadne stopped for a moment. "Boyfriend?"

"Please, darling. Have you seen the way that boy looks at you?"

"He's a colleague," she insisted. "Like you."

"Of course he is," he said disbelievingly.

She sighed, frustrated.

He smiled a little. She was just helping to prove his point.

Ariadne led the way through the row house, through the living room, dining room and into the kitchen.

While she went directly for the cabinet where she'd hidden the case, he stopped at the refrigerator. The roulette wheel magnet caught his attention first. It was holding an old, faded photograph. "What have we here?" he asked, pulling the picture down.

If he had to guess, it was Arthur and Penelope, only younger. They sat on a poker table, surrounded by cards, chips, and martini glasses.

"Uh... Eames?"

He glanced over at her. "What?"

"It's not here?"

"The case?"

She shook her head. "I put it right here," she said, pointing to the empty space.

He looked around the kitchen. "Well, there are lots of cabinets. Sure you didn't miscount doors or something?"

"I was just here," she insisted.

Still holding the photo, he helped her search. Each cabinet was as empty as the one before it. "I wonder..." He glanced back at the fridge. "Was this photo here when you came in the first time?" he asked, showing it to her.

"No," she said, taking it.

"Looks like your beau and his sister, no?"

"Eames," she sighed, frustrated.

"Right, right," he said, opening the refrigerator. While it wasn't completely empty, there was no food within, only three bottles of Tennessee whiskey. "Arthur doesn't strike me as a liquid-only diet kind of fellow."

"What about the freezer?"

Eames closed the refrigerator door, opening the smaller one above it. He let out a low whistle. "Hello," he murmured, looking at the the small fortune in cash. Reaching in, he pulled a banded stack out, removing the plastic wrap covering it. "I get the feeling he left some rather pertinent details out of our briefing," he said, flipping through the icy cold bills and looking back at Ariadne.

"Maybe Cobb moved the box," she said. "We should get back."

Eames started to put the money in his coat pocket.

"Don't even think about it."

"Wishful thinking anyway," Eames muttered, tossing the bills back in the freezer and shutting the door. "Can't take it back to reality. Doesn't work that way."

* * *

Arthur paced. "What are we doing here, Cobb?"

"I told you. We're waiting on Ariadne and Eames."

"What's taking them so long?"

"I sent them on a mission," Cobb said. "It won't take them much longer."

"We need to be helping my sister!"

"And we are. This is all part of the process, Arthur, trust me."

Arthur sighed heavily.

"We'll get it back for her," Cobb assured him.

"Do you have any idea what that was like? It's like she's missing a key component of what makes her so uniquely _her_. She's not my sister. She's not Penelope, not until she remembers."

"She's still your sister, Arthur."

He wasn't so sure. "She wouldn't have undergone it voluntarily. Somebody had to take it from her." He added, through clenched teeth: "By _force_."

"Before we go diving into her subconscious, we need to figure out about when it happened. You're going to have to figure out when she stopped talking about it, see if she had any emergency surgeries, any long travel, any unexplained illnesses. There aren't many who can Encapsulate something of that magnitude. We can cross-reference the past few months of her life with those who are capable... there's bound to be something that overlapped."

Arthur nodded.

"But, I need to make sure of something."

"What?"

"You and Eames."

Arthur sighed.

"I understand why you want to go down into the depths with your sister. And, I think your presence would be a calming influence on her subconscious. It might allow us the time to find and unlock the Encapsulation. But, if Yusuf is the first dream, Ariadne's the second, and I'm the third... That leaves you, Eames and Penelope..."

"It'll be fine," Arthur insisted.

"Are you sure?"

"It has to be!"

"Cobb!"

Both men turned as Ariadne and Eames returned to the street corner.

"There's a problem," Ariadne said. "The box, it's gone."

"Now you see what's happened," Cobb said. "It doesn't matter where you put it, even if we return to the same dream. The subconscious spirits it away, puts it deeper and deeper, somewhere we wouldn't know where to look."

"Somewhere like this?" Eames asked, snagging the photograph back from Ariadne.

"What is that?" Cobb asked.

Arthur crossed toward the forger, snatching the photo out of his hand.

Eames watched as the point man sobered.

Cobb looked over Arthur's shoulder. "Ariadne... Las Vegas, maybe ten years ago?"

The architect closed her eyes.

* * *

"Now, _this_ is more like it," Eames said approvingly as the previous landscape vanished and they were dropped in the middle of Sin City's infamous strip. They were bombarded with neon flashing lights, with people laughing and having a grand time. "Who's up for a little gambling?"

Arthur hesitated.

"Which casino?" Cobb asked.

"All of them, naturally," Eames said with a lecherous smile.

Arthur shook his head before leading the way into a familiar establishment.

Eames glanced at Ariadne, catching her dark eyes for a moment.

She rushed forward, walking into the casino with Arthur. Cobb and Eames followed more slowly.

"So, what, exactly? The subconscious leaves clues to the Encapsulated thoughts?" Eames asked quietly. "We'll find his watch down here?"

"It's like anything else that's stolen. There's evidence that's left behind. Fingerprints, fibers. Vestiges that someone was in his mind. A trained subconscious will be better at hiding it, but I didn't tell Arthur to keep us out," Cobb explained.

"Okay, so this is his memory, right? Our boy Arthur spent a lot of time in Las Vegas?"

"You could say that," Cobb said with a nod. "He and Penelope grew up here." He closed the distance, catching up to Arthur. "Where is she?"

"We shouldn't have come. She hates this job," Arthur said, wincing.

"It'll be all right," Cobb promised.

"Who's here? Who are we looking for?" Ariadne asked.

Cobb took a slow breath. "Penelope. Split up."

Eames spoke up quickly: "What good is she when we find her?"

"She'll give us a clue," Cobb promised.

Ariadne and Arthur headed deeper into the casino floor, quickly lost amid the slot machine labyrinth. Cobb headed for the bar. Eames took a moment to look around the place. The photo was taken on a poker table. He headed that direction.

The dealers all looked alike, in slacks, oxfords and vests. Only one glanced up from the table.

"There you are," he murmured. With a smile, he crossed toward her table. He hadn't put _all_ the money back in Arthur's makeshift safe. He placed several hundred dollars on the table. "Deal me in, sweetheart?" He double-checked her name-tag: _Penelope_.

"Yes, sir, a thousand dollars," she said, taking his cash in exchange for a stack of chips.

"So, tell me, Penelope... say a man's looking for a watch. Where might he find one?"

The action at the table as well as the others around him stopped. Each head turned to look at him.

"I'm in the market for a new one," he said, looking at his own golden watch. "A friend of mine had one, very sleek looking. Tasteful, yet simple in its elegance."

The projections seemed satisfied, letting him have his private conversation with the dealer.

Penelope bit the inside of her cheek. She was younger, looking much more like the girl in the dream photo instead of the photo Arthur had included in the briefing. "I'm not sure I should tell you," she murmured, glancing at him shyly.

He leaned slightly across the table toward her, a playfulness in his eyes. "Who'm I going to tell, darling?" He grinned, seeing her react to him. He'd never seen a projection's cheeks turn pink before.

She cleared her throat. "Maybe if you win a hand, I'll tell you."

"Then, you best deal me in," he said, settling on the stool across from her. It was Texas Hold 'Em, and he had a pitifully grouped five and two, off suit. No one needed to know that. Confidently, he pushed all his chips to the center.

Of the three gamblers at the table, two folded instantly. The third pondered a moment before calling his bet.

"Well, then," Eames said. "Let's see who lady luck favors, shall we?" Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he showed his cards.

The other gambler smiled, satisfied, as he revealed the ace and ten of clubs.

Penelope's smile was soft and kind as she spoke to Eames. "It may not be your night, sir."

How could she be full of such tenderness and her brother be so condescending? He pushed that thought out of his head. "Shall we see what the flop brings us?"

She nodded, dealing out three cards, sliding them into their proper spot on the table.

As they were dealt, he adjusted slightly in his seat. The other gambler matched his ten; there was a queen and also a six. It would have to take a miracle to get a three and a four on the last two cards. It wasn't impossible, but it wasn't likely either.

"Even if I lose, there was certainly a nice consolation," he said, drumming his fingers on the green felt.

"And what's that, sir?" Penelope asked.

"At least I got to sit at table with the most beautiful woman..."

Again, Penelope's projected cheeks flushed before she turned over the next card, a three.

Eames wondered if it was because Cobb had told Arthur not to hide the watch that well, or if flirting with the projection adjusted the outcome of the cards.

As she started to deal the final card, he caught her wrist.

She gasped, looking at him.

He took a chance. "No matter what it happens to be... have dinner with me."

"Sir, I..." She glanced toward the pit boss, an imposing, towering man in the center of the casino floor.

"After your shift, of course."

"I-I can't," she whispered. "It's forbidden, dealers and players..."

"This is the only hand I'm playing. After this one, I'll cease to be a player."

She smiled softly, but shook her head. "If the situation were ever different, maybe," she said. "But, it's not."

He released her, but not quickly. He let his fingertips drag across the top of her skin as he removed his hand.

She swallowed hard, turning over the river to reveal the four he needed.

The other gambler gaped as Penelope named Eames the winner of the hand.

"Would you like to play again, sir?" she asked.

Eames shook his head. "Just that information, if you have it..."

"Third floor. Room 368"

He smiled. "You are a pretty Penny, darling." He pushed all his chips toward her. "Thank you."

As he stood, he spotted Cobb, Arthur and Ariadne standing, at a loss, near the roulette table.

He crossed to them quickly. "Come, children. To the third floor we go."

"But, Penelope-" began Cobb.

"Heck of a dealer," he said, nodding toward her table. "Room 368. Who's coming?"

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

"I'm a perfectly likable gent."

"You're a perfectly _annoying_ pr-"

"Arthur," Ariadne cut off warningly.

"Oh, darling, please," Eames said, glancing at the architect. "This is nothing new. This is downright typical of Arthur's condescension. Those who can, extract. Those who can't, point."

"Those who _lie_, forge," Arthur taunted.

Eames actually smiled. "With pride."

Frustrated, Arthur stood, stalking off.

"It's just too easy," Eames commented, giving Ariadne a light shrug.


	3. Chapter 3

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Cobb Encapsulates a thought of Arthur's. Coming out of the dream, Eames and Ariadne see how the memories connected to Arthur's watch are gone. Entering the shared dream again, they discover that the Encapsulated thoughts aren't where Ariadne left them. They dive deeper into Arthur's thoughts and memories, winding up at a casino in Las Vegas, where his sister is a poker dealer. Eames gets the clue from Penelope that the watch is in one of the casino's rooms.

* * *

The third floor of the casino hotel was sparsely populated. On their search for the proper room, they only passed one projection.

Ariadne figured the projection must've been someone important because Arthur almost immediately turned his head.

"Here we are," Eames announced, standing in front of the door. "Who's got the key?"

Arthur slipped his hands into his pockets. In the right one was his totem. In the left, a card key. Wordlessly, he pulled it out, unlocking the door and leading the way in.

Eames let out a slow breath as he realized they were walking into the same row house they'd been in during the New York portion of the dream. "Is it odd to get déjà vu _within_ a dream?" he asked.

"Ariadne?" Cobb asked.

"This way," she said, leading them toward the kitchen.

When Arthur paused, however, so did Eames. Glancing around, Eames knew why. There was another projection, someone there who hadn't been there before.

It was a haggard woman sitting on the couch. Her thick dark hair was streaked with silver. Her dark eyes were sunken. Angry black circles lingered beneath them, startling against her otherwise pale skin.

"Perhaps we should join the others in the kitchen," Eames said, reaching out toward Arthur.

The woman's head snapped toward them when he spoke. "You! You're not supposed to be home yet."

Arthur stilled, clenching his jaw tightly. "How could you?"

"Arthur, come on," Eames said, tugging the younger man's sleeve.

The point man was standing his ground, unmoving, unwavering, staring at the projection.

"No, Arthur, you shouldn't be here..."

Before Eames could say anything else to try to convince Arthur to move, the woman lunged at Arthur. Eames pulled the point man out of the way, and the woman fell, sprawling on the floor.

"What's happening?" Cobb asked, emerging from the kitchen with the lock box under his arm.

Ariadne was behind him. "Arthur?"

"Nothing to see here, just memories, I think," Eames said. "Rather unpleasant ones. Are we done? How close are we to our five minutes?" he asked, looking at his watch.

The woman laughed, sitting up. It was a startling sound, a creepy, demented kind of chuckle. She casually picked at her fingernails when she spoke: "It doesn't matter anymore. It's too late."

Arthur's expression was blank, empty.

"Definitely time to go," Eames said, pulling his gun from his holster again. He didn't apologize or give any warnings before firing on Ariadne first before shooting himself.

* * *

"Dammit, Eames!" Ariadne again felt for the hole in her chest, but there wasn't one. "Would you _stop_ doing that?"

"First time, Cobb said so. Second time... well." He glanced at Arthur. "Fella should have privacy."

"Why didn't you shoot Cobb, too, then?"

"The box was still locked. I'm not about to go traipsing through vintage Las Vegas again, not with that shrew of a woman wandering around." He pulled the IV from his hand.

"What are you two talking about?" asked Yusuf.

"Not to worry," he said, getting to his feet. "Everything will be back to normal in a moment."

Cobb and Arthur woke simultaneously, both gasping for air.

Silence descended upon the group. It was uncomfortable, and it filled the empty warehouse they'd taken as their base of operations.

Arthur yanked out his IV, standing. "My watch, Cobb." He held his hand out expectantly.

Cobb quietly placed it in his hand.

Arthur turned, not looking at any of them, as he walked out of the warehouse, out into the afternoon air.

"We're going to have lots of issues on this job, aren't we?" Yusuf asked.

Cobb glanced at Ariadne, who was torn between staying there and running after Arthur. With a sigh, he began rolling up his IV tube. "Personally-charged missions are always high-stakes."

* * *

Arthur took several deep, shaky breaths. He kept telling himself it was worth it, that Ariadne and Eames needed to see what Encapsulation looked like, so they'd recognize it in Penelope. He hadn't expected his mother to show up. He hadn't expected them to see her either.

He'd have to thank Eames again, a thought that both sickened him and made him ease somewhat.

Once Eames and Ariadne had disappeared, he'd pulled his own gun.

Cobb almost hadn't been given enough time to open the case.

One bullet in his mother's head, one in Cobb's, before one in his own.

It was a miracle he'd made it out of their broken home alive, even more so that Penelope had been able to do it almost entirely on her own.

He'd tried to get her to join the military, too, but she had her sights set differently than his. While he just wanted out, she wanted up.

After his brief tenure with the Marines, she'd been the one to turn him onto the prospect of shared-dreaming. He'd heard about it in the military, about the training aspects of the procedure. If he'd stuck around for more than his initial tour, he might've asked to try.

Arthur had always kept an ear to the ground, always mindful of what was around him, of what possibilities were out there. He'd met the Cobbs first, Mal and Dom, little Phillipa and tiny James.

It was an interesting idea, a family brought together by dream-sharing. It had made him believe that there could be more to his own life than his self-imposed isolation. He'd introduced them to Penelope, and Mal had introduced them to the concept of the totem.

He reached into his pocket, fingering the loaded die again.

Its mate, the one that only rolled to the number two in the waking world, was in his sister's pocket.

* * *

The next few weeks were intense. The preparation of the job was more than any of them had imagined possible.

Arthur devoured the time lines, spreading out over the floor of the warehouse, trying to pinpoint the overlaps between his sister's perfectly regimented schedule and that of the less-than-honorable Encapsulators. There were only a few instances where it would've been easy to perform an Encapsulation. There were plenty where it might've been more difficult but still doable.

It made his head hurt.

Ariadne worked on the five separate levels of the dream. The first level would be a gala party. Something that was not related to Penelope or Arthur in any way. After all, their mark was supposed to be on a mission to help them help someone else, not to dive within her own subconscious.

The first level would be an easy Mr. Charles gambit. With Eames in on the trick, his job was to willingly submit to Arthur's portrayal of dream security.

The second level would be more difficult. Something familiar to Penelope, as it would be the location of her Encapsulation, once Arthur determined it. The level was currently generic enough to be any city, any location. Once Arthur figured it out, she'd make last-minute adjustments.

The third and fourth levels would dive into Penelope's past, perhaps even her _shared_ past with Arthur. The fifth level would be her lab. Ariadne had a feeling that Penelope would need to be surrounded by images of her work, in order to find what it was she'd been studying.

Cobb had agreed.

Cobb and Yusuf had some traveling to do, gathering the exact, expensive components necessary to make the tailored sedatives to keep the shared-dreamers within their deepest sleeps. Yusuf also had to work on adjusting the times spent on each level. The compounding didn't need to be quite so extensive.

Eames studied his mark. While he wasn't forging his appearance in the dream, he had to be able to keep Penelope's attention. He studied her job history, her personal history. He picked Arthur's brain to the point of utter annoyance.

Ariadne, tired of hearing Arthur's increasingly irate answers, finally jumped into the conversation. "Eames?"

"Yes, dear?" he asked, turning toward her.

"What's your favorite color?"

He tilted his head at her curiously. "Favorite color?"

"You do have one, don't you?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I suppose," he said, easing back in his chair and propping his feet up. "Something naturally occurring. Earth tones, I guess, might be the best way to describe it."

"So, you're not a screaming yellow kind of a guy?"

He made a face.

"No neon oranges or pinks?"

"While neon may be a naturally occurring element, I'm not fond of the colors it lends its name to, no," he said. "Was that of absolute pertinence?"

Arthur glanced at Ariadne. "Actually, it was," he said, pulling the leather-bound notebook from the back pocket of his dark slacks.

"What on earth are you up to?" Eames asked.

"We've been getting ready for the deeper aspects of the dream. I haven't even begun to prepare the documentation we'll need to convince Penelope to join the team, to dive into _your_ mind."

"You're going to make something up? Wouldn't that be more _my_ area of expertise?"

"Not necessarily," Arthur said, his pen dancing furiously across the pages.

"I'm not sure I approve of this," Eames said, sitting up again and craning his neck in the hopes of catching a glimpse of what was being written.

"Not sure you get a say in it," Arthur shot back darkly.

"I'm volunteering, aren't I? This is a special case, isn't it? I can create my background, you can continue to figure out where it is, exactly, your sister's brain got a little _edited_."

Ariadne almost wished Cobb hadn't left with Yusuf. Or, if he had, that he hadn't left her behind either. "Guys..."

"Your job is to keep my sister occupied while I look for her Encapsulated thoughts. And, as you've already pointed out _all_ day today, I'm the one who knows her best. I'm the one who's going to know how her brain works, how her thoughts flow... and why she might like trying to help _you_."

"I'm a perfectly likable gent."

"You're a perfectly _annoying_ pr-"

"Arthur," Ariadne cut off warningly.

"Oh, darling, please," Eames said, glancing at the architect. "This is nothing new. This is downright typical of Arthur's condescension. Those who can, extract. Those who can't, point."

"Those who _lie_, forge," Arthur taunted.

Eames actually smiled. "With pride."

Frustrated, Arthur stood, stalking off.

"It's just too easy," Eames commented, giving Ariadne a light shrug.

"You could try to be nice."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"It would be a _challenge_ for you, wouldn't it?" she asked before following Arthur out of the warehouse.

Eames considered that for a moment. "Huh."

* * *

Cobb stopped at the red light, watching the traffic roll past in front of him.

Yusuf prattled on about the particular compounds needed for the Encapsulation. "I've been reading up on it. There isn't much documentation out there. In fact, most of what I've read, it was written by our mark. That's not odd, is it?"

Cobb was lost in thought, thinking of his children. The children he'd fought to get home to. The daughter who barely tolerated him. The son who adored him.

"Cobb?" Yusuf frowned.

Only the honking of the cars behind him in line brought Cobb back to attention, to the fact that he'd been sitting through the light after it had turned green.

"I was wondering if I'd lost you," Yusuf said.

Cobb shook his head. "I'm here."

"Did you hear what I said?"

Cobb cleared his throat. "About what?"

"About our mark, about how she's the one with the most written and published about Encapsulation."

"Penelope?"

Yusuf nodded.

"What's she written about?"

The chemist sorted through the papers in his lap. "Most of the basic information came from her, in fact. The compounds that make it possible, what can suspend the brain's ability to think clearly, what assists in the hypnotic elements of an Encapsulation." Yusuf glanced over in time to see the lines deepen in Cobb's forehead. "This is bad, isn't it?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. When he pulled up outside the warehouse, he saw Arthur on the steel grated landing a floor up, leaning against the railing, staring off into space. Ariadne was behind him, a hand supportively on his arm.

Cobb knew intimately well how difficult it could be, being distracted by family, needing desperately to accomplish something for a loved one. He knew better than any of them, in fact. While he might've played a little fast and loose with the rules, he wasn't about to let the others risk their lives, not even for Arthur's sister, who Cobb himself had known going on six years.

"Do me a favor," Cobb said as he parked the car.

"What's that?" Yusuf asked.

"Take Ariadne inside. Tell her you need to ask her something."

"What am I asking her?"

"Doesn't matter," Cobb said. "I just need a minute with our point man."

Yusuf nodded slowly before climbing out of the car. He grabbed all his parcels and bags from the backseat, juggling them in his arms to ascend the staircase. "Ariadne, would you be so kind?" he asked.

Arthur moved out of the way as Ariadne took half Yusuf's collection and followed him into the warehouse proper.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?" he asked, looking at Cobb.

"Looks like you haven't slept in a while," he commented idly.

The dark haired man smiled tightly. "You know how this job gets."

"Speaking of this job," Cobb said, segueing as nicely as he could onto other topics, "Yusuf had an interesting thought on the drive back here."

"What's that?" Arthur asked, standing a little straighter.

Cobb could tell that the point man was ready to process whatever it was, whatever new technique, whatever new idea. "That your sister seems to be the only expert in Encapsulation."

He shook his head.

"I've seen her scholarly papers, Arthur. She seems to be the leading authority."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, knowing well that Cobb was trying to impugn his sister's character. "Her initial research was into Encapsulation as trauma treatment. Victims of horrendous acts of violence, witnesses to murders, the like."

"So, what happened? What made her change her field of study?"

"She realized that the technology could be used for criminal purposes. It's worse than anything we could ever Extract. Extraction, you still have the secret. Encapsulation? It's gone. All of the genesis, all of the process..." He could tell he was losing Cobb. "Say you come up with the next great invention, something that's going to make you millions of dollars. Say you tell somebody your idea, but not all the details. Just enough to make them realize what a goldmine you're sitting on. That person hires an Encapsulator. He steals your idea as well as your knowledge of the idea. They make that invention, put their name on it... You never see a penny, never realize you_ should_ have seen a penny."

"It's not fool-proof. The potential is there for you to realize that something's gone," Cobb said.

"We've been working on this job three weeks now," Arthur returned. "You telling me we've wasted our time, energy, resources? You telling me you're not going to help my sister?"

Cobb shook his head. "That's not what I'm saying. What I _am_ trying to say is that... can't you jog her memory? See if there's anything visible to her in _this _plane of existence."

"You don't think I haven't tried? I've had lunch with her twice a week since we started this. She doesn't remember a damn thing. Every time I try to bring it up, she changes the conversation."

"She does?"

Arthur nodded.

The questions returned to Cobb's face.

"What?"

"Is it possible that the subconscious can protect the Encapsulation even in her waking state?"

"That would be a question for Penelope. She is the leading expert on the dream-like state. If only she _remembered _that," he said flatly.

"How close are we to being ready?"

"Maze levels are mostly done. Eames has studied her forwards and backwards. The only things left are for us to finalize the fake mission, and get Yusuf's drugs completed."

Cobb nodded slowly. "Set up a meet with your sister. Dinner tomorrow."

"We're not going to be ready by tomorrow."

"We'll be ready to talk to her about a spot on the team by then, won't we?"

Arthur nodded.

"Dinner reservations." Cobb clapped Arthur's shoulder. "Somewhere nice. You, me, and Penelope."

* * *

He'd forgotten how her smile could light up the room. Cobb stood as Penelope approached. "How've you been?"

"Dom!" She hugged him tightly. "When Arthur said he was inviting a friend to have dinner with us, I never imagined it was you. Figured you'd be off, y'know, play date with the kids or something."

A flicker of pain entered Cobb's features but only for a fleeting moment. "There's family time and there's work time. Did Arthur tell you this was a business dinner?"

"No, actually, he didn't," she said, glancing at her brother, who was pulling her chair out for her.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he admitted, glancing at her.

"Well, I'm not sure how much help I can be to you two," she said as she eased into the seat. "But, I can surely try."

"That's all we need you to do, Penelope." Cobb offered her a file folder. "We have a tricky issue... and we need somewhat of a specialist."

She immediately opened the folder, her dark eyes speed-reading the information. "A Mr. Eames, huh?"

"He's had some problems with memory, indicative of Encapsulation," Cobb said quietly. He watched as her eyes stilled. "It's my understanding you're pretty good with that tech."

She looked up at him, shaking her head. She closed the file. "You heard wrong. I'm sorry."

"Penelope," began Arthur, "trust me. He knows."

She sighed heavily. "I haven't... I haven't worked on that program, on that kind of research, not in a long time, Dom. The advancements that have been made since I worked on it last... If this was a recent Encapsulation, there's... there's no way."

"We're a man down on the team, Penelope. And if there was any other way, any other option... But there isn't. We don't have a lot of time. This Mr. Eames fellow, he's a British diplomat," explained Cobb. "And he's got a flight back to London next week. We have to move fast to undo the damage that's been done."

"I'm not an extractor, I'm not a point man," she said, looking at Cobb and Arthur in turn. "I'm not even an architect."

"Don't worry about that," Arthur said. "You remember me telling you about Ariadne?"

She nodded.

"She's our architect. And we have a chemist."

"Then... what do you need me for?" she asked, looking thoroughly confused at her brother.

"Encapsulations these days," began Cobb, "have an advanced form of dream security. We have to employ a certain gambit which can be troublesome. It involves informing the mark that he's dreaming. If we can distract him, keep his subconscious occupied on several different levels, it'll make it easier to bring the memories back. Now, Eames, here, has a weak spot for beautiful women like you."

Penelope blushed slightly.

"In addition to your vast knowledge about Encapsulation, you are exactly his type." Cobb reached over, flipping a few pages in the folder, landing on the headshot of Eames as well as a brief description of his past romances and various preferences, right down to his favorite color. "Your job is to keep him off-center enough so that his subconscious doesn't come chasing after us, at least long enough for us to try to accomplish this job."

"I don't know, guys," she said, glancing from Cobb to Arthur.

"You'll be protected," Arthur promised. "I wouldn't be asking for your help if I thought it was too dangerous."

She glanced back at the folder, looking at Eames again, at the knowledge in his blue-green eyes, at the stubble across his cheeks. "If there's no other way to do this, if you need me," she said, hesitantly returning her attention to her big brother. She watched as relief visibly washed over him. "When do we start?" she asked resolutely.

"Soon. We're finishing up prep. But first? I'm famished," Cobb said, picking up his menu.

* * *

Coming attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

As she began to discuss the pros and cons of the next chemical component Yusuf would be mixing, Cobb leaned over to Arthur. "I forgot how much of an _egghead_ she could be sometimes," he whispered.

Arthur nodded slowly. "That's why I'm not so sure how well this is going to go over. I'm not sure Eames can reach her."

"Eames is a con man. As smart as your sister is... she has her weaknesses, and Eames can find them, exploit them."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "That's what I'm afraid of."


	4. Chapter 4

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Cobb finishes showing Ariadne and Eames how Encapsulation works, but they wind up seeing a memory from Arthur's not-so-distant past. With the prep in play, Eames pushes Arthur's buttons. Yusuf wonders about the information on Encapsulation, most of which comes from Penelope's scholarly works. Cobb decides they're ready to involve Penelope, and has Arthur arrange for a dinner meeting. With a little arm twisting, Penelope is in.

* * *

Eames paced in the office behind the secured door. He wasn't all that thrilled to be locked in a room like a prisoner. He felt more like a caged animal than a valued member of the team.

For a moment, he was sure Arthur was enjoying the satisfaction of having him sequestered in a cell.

He tried to push past it, so that he wouldn't be _more_ inclined to climb the walls. He kept telling himself that it was all for the mission. And, while he and Arthur never saw eye to eye on many things, one thing they had in common was their professionalism. Eames might have fun doing his job, but he did his job. Arthur just didn't understand that the two weren't mutually exclusive.

He only half listened as Yusuf tried to explain to Ariadne about the intricacies of his potions. He wasn't interested in the chemical side of the equation. So long as they stayed under, so long as they accomplished what needed to be done, so long as they all walked out at the end of the dream, he didn't care.

He stilled when he heard Cobb's distinctive voice announce: "They're here."

Quietly, he sat at the desk, opening his notebook, in case he learned anything else about his mark.

* * *

Penelope looked at the nondescript warehouse pensively. "This is where you work?"

"We can't all have high rise, corner offices," Arthur said, walking with her up the stairs to the second floor entrance, their heels distinctively clicking on the steel stairs. He reached the door first, sliding his key into the lock and turning it. He opened the door, gesturing for her to enter.

Before she entered, she took a breath. It wasn't her field of expertise. While, yes, she researched dream-sharing, her ventures into shared subconscious was all in the name of science, all experimental, all carefully coordinated. What she was walking into wasn't her lab, it wasn't like what she was used to, and that worried her, scared her.

As she placed one tentative foot in front of the other, she realized there would be no turning back from this. Her brother needed help, and she'd give it, in any way that she could. It was just frightening.

Cobb was standing just inside the door, smiling at her. "Penelope."

She managed to return the smile. "Dom."

"Come meet the rest of the team," he said, guiding her further into the building.

The warehouse was as she'd expected, full of empty space. It looked like it had been abandoned long ago. There were several old lawn chaises placed together in a circle, surrounding a familiar silver case holding the shared-dreaming equipment.

"You must be Ariadne," Penelope said, spotting the architect.

"It's nice to meet you."

"Arthur's told me so much about you," Penelope said, glancing back at her brother. She saw the familiar glint in his dark eyes, a momentary happiness. She felt more at ease seeing that.

"And this is our chemist, Yusuf," Cobb said.

Penelope held her hand out, and Yusuf took it politely. "Sir."

Yusuf dipped his head.

"Arthur tells me you specially tailor the serums."

"I do," Yusuf said. "Each shared-dreaming experience can be different based, in part, on the chemicals used in the sedatives."

"Have you done much with Encapsulation?"

Cobb glanced at Arthur, a grim but determined smile on the extractor's face. What was happening was exactly what he'd _hoped_ would happen, putting the scientist in the same room with the chemist.

"Not much," he admitted.

Penelope crossed her arms over her chest. "So you aren't aware of the potential side effects after the fact?"

"After the fact?" Yusuf asked, glancing at Cobb for confirmation.

Cobb shrugged.

"Well, it all depends on what's been Encapsulated," explained Penelope. "If it's a small memory, something relatively trivial, the reaction of the patient afterward is mild. There isn't much that can be said. Perhaps a little shame, nothing that won't go away with a little time and distance. If this memory is huge, however and... well, if your mark is a diplomat, if they've squirreled away state secrets deep within his subconscious... There may be an adverse reaction once he comes out of the dream."

"What kind of an adverse reaction?" Arthur asked, concerned.

"Acute cases might include mood swings. More serious cases might include outbursts of anger, frustration. Encapsulation, if used improperly, it's... it's theft," she said, glancing back and forth between Arthur and Cobb. "It's a violation of the most personal variety. It can leave the victim feeling lost, experiencing emotions that were somehow stunted... The outpouring after a dream can be intense."

"How do we avoid that?" Cobb asked.

"Well, you need a good chemist," Penelope said, smiling gently at Yusuf.

Yusuf sat down, taking copious notes. "Are there any suggestions, any particular compounds that can be beneficial?"

As she began to discuss the pros and cons of the next chemical component Yusuf would be mixing, Cobb leaned over to Arthur. "I forgot how much of an _egghead_ she could be sometimes," he whispered.

Arthur nodded slowly. "That's why I'm not so sure how well this is going to go over. I'm not sure Eames can reach her."

"Eames is a con man. As smart as your sister is... she has her weaknesses, and Eames can find them, exploit them."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"I think you've proven just how dangerous you can be when provoked," Cobb pointed out, remembering well seeing his friend slam the forger onto the ground before commencing one hell of a fistfight. "He'll play his cards right. He won't hurt her."

"He better not," Arthur said warningly, glancing at the radio transmitter laying not far from where he was standing.

* * *

Eames leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the desk.

She knew Cobb well enough to call him by his first name. That was an interesting tidbit. The fact that Arthur had told his sister about Ariadne also spoke untold volumes about the point man's feelings about the architect.

Greetings aside, it was clear that she was a serious scientist, a stick in the mud like Arthur. He could use that. His tactics would include propriety, manners. He'd appeal to her head, not her heart.

At least, not at first.

It might be better that way after all. If the goal was to trick her subconscious, to fool it into thinking that the dream wasn't hers at all but someone else's, he'd need to keep her mind busy.

He clicked on a penlight, shining just the tiniest amount of light on the folder he had on Penelope. He'd need to read more of her published works. He'd need to cultivate more of a worldly approach himself.

He lifted the photo of her from the file, looking at her image in the darkness. She was a beauty, there was no question. But, her history had glossed over boyfriends. There had been a beau or two, but nothing serious, nothing that lasted any length of time. She seemed closed off from the real world, engrossed in her job rather than participating in her _life_.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, dropping the picture back into the folder.

The conversation between Penelope and Yusuf faded into the background as Cobb and Arthur's whispers began.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, darling," Eames muttered, wishing for a moment that the communication could go both ways.

It wound up being an excruciatingly long night. Unable to sit still forever, he padded quietly in a tiny circle around the desk, his eyes having adjusted to the darkness. Every now and then, though, he'd close his eyes, listening to what the team members were saying over each other.

Penelope and Yusuf spoke in such technical terms with authority.

It was clear, even without being able to see, that Cobb and Ariadne were working on design sketches of the embassy ballroom for the first level of the dream. He didn't particularly care what kind of ambiance a vaulted ceiling could provide to a stuffy black-tie event.

It was Arthur, though, that concerned him. The point man was often quiet but he seemed exceedingly so that evening. Every now and again, he heard the familiar squeak of one of the chairs tipping backwards. It would stay precariously balanced for several minutes before gravity took back over and it landed solidly. Eames could only assume it was nervous energy manifesting itself, as a solitary emotional roller coaster. The point man buried his feelings so deeply within that they were nearly impossible to find. Arthur had a lot to be worried about. His sister was missing significant memories and, from the sound of it, the aftermath of _fixing_ that problem might be worse than spending several centuries within Limbo.

Of course, if he were in Arthur's shoes, he'd be scared, too.

* * *

Arthur tilted his head one way and then the other, trying to stretch out his neck muscles. Penelope and Yusuf had been in quiet conference with each other for over four hours. He'd run out of things to do except sit and wait to drive her home. Cobb had called it a night already. Ariadne sat at the drafting table, moving lines, rearranging platforms.

The only halfway amused thought he had was that Eames was still locked in a darkened office. He glanced at the door, wondering if the forger was still awake.

Ariadne finally stood, moving away from her work. She crossed toward the tired-looking point man. "How long do you think they'll be?"

Arthur shrugged. "I think it's about time to shut them down for the night, though. This is bordering on ridiculous."

"I think it's sweet, actually."

"I would've ended their discussion an hour ago, but... if it's going to help her get over the shock to her system, then... it needs to be right."

Ariadne glanced at him. "I never would've imagined you as a family man."

"I'm not much of one. It's just me and her. Really, it always was."

"Your mother seemed..."

Arthur stiffened.

"Like someone we don't need to talk about," Ariadne amended. "Is she... is it possible that she'll show up again? I just... I don't want another _Mal_ situation," she said quietly.

"She only appeared because you were looking through my memories, trying to find my Encapsulated thought. And, for whatever reason, you put it in somewhere I used to live."

"It... It was the only door that wasn't locked," she admitted.

He nodded slowly. "As we dive into her subconscious, we might be inundated with her memories, which may or may not include _her_," he said, referring more to his mother than his sister. He could tell she was dying to ask more questions, but he stood instead. "I'll get Penelope out of here. Free Eames from his prison, would you?"

"Sure," Ariadne said watching as the point man slowly moved forward.

"Penelope..."

She glanced up from where she'd been scribbling. "Five more minutes?"

For a moment, they were smaller, and he cracked a hint of a smile. It faded just as quickly as it appeared, however, and he shook his head. "You've got real work in the morning. I'll pick you up after, you can come back by and talk with Yusuf more. Maybe he'll have something concocted by then?"

Yusuf nodded. "I think I can definitely start to craft something, thanks to your sister, here. She is a font of knowledge."

Penelope stood. "It was lovely to work with you," she said.

"See you all tomorrow," Arthur said, guiding his sister out of the warehouse.

Ariadne watched as they left, listening as the door finally closed behind them. She raced to the office, unlocking the door.

Eames stood just on the other side. "The next time we have a mission like this... _Arthur_ gets locked within for some five hours. Are we clear?"

Ariadne bit her lower lip.

Yusuf snickered.

Eames sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

* * *

The next three days went by in a blur, particularly for Penelope. She worked eight hours at her research job, and then another four to six with the team in the warehouse. She wasn't sleeping, but she figured she didn't need it. She'd be within in a dream for what would feel like ages soon enough.

Arthur grew more and more anxious, the closer they got to the job date. He knew it had the potential to be a real fight, an uphill battle.

Cobb kept a weather eye on all of the team. He noticed the way that Ariadne watched over Arthur, hovering no more than a few feet from the point man. He noted well the way Yusuf became a man on a mission, once Penelope had opened up the new world to him, of post-shared-dreaming potables.

He'd been mostly worried about Eames. The forger spent a third of his day locked in darkness, listening to them. He'd only been present when Eames had been released on the last day of prep. There was a haunted look about the Brit. It seemed to be part determination, part frustration, part _sadness_.

It was a troubling thought, the potential for losing Eames so close to the shared-dream session, particularly when the forger was such a vital part of the plan.

Cobb watched as Eames crossed toward the window. "What are you looking for?"

"Just... looking," Eames said, his blue-green eyes finding his target. He watched as Penelope and Arthur strolled together down the sidewalk, as she climbed into the passenger seat of his car. He pursed his lips, thinking, as they drove off.

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Provided you don't lock me in another bloody room again, yes."

"You're ready for the mission?"

"I've been ready."

Cobb nodded slowly. "What's your take?"

"She's brilliant. A little socially inept, perhaps, but not once you get her to open up. It's an easy approach. But I'm going to need time. We cannot have another _issue_ like the Fischer debacle."

"We already know her subconscious has been trained. But if she doesn't even realize that it's _her_ subconscious..."

"I'm just warning you now... if the first level winds up rushed..." He shook his head. "We'll never make it."

"How much time do you need?"

"For a real connection? Several hours. The more time you can buy me, the easier this mission gets. The more time _you_ get to search for clues to the deeper corners of her brain."

Cobb nodded slowly.

Eames watched as Yusuf packed his case, following Ariadne out of the warehouse.

"You can do this?"

Eames nodded. "I know what Arthur thinks-"

"Arthur's just worried," Cobb said, cutting him off.

"And he should be. If anything she said was true, about the aftermath of undoing an Encapsulation..." He sucked in a quick breath. "Is he prepared for what could happen to her?"

Cobb hesitated.

"He's not said, has he? I should know. Sitting in that... that _sensory deprivation_ chamber, I think I've heard more than you can imagine."

"We still have all day tomorrow. I'll talk to him."

Eames slowly nodded. "Make sure he understands fully what he's getting himself into, what he's getting his _sister_ into."

Cobb nodded.

Eames ran a hand through his sandy brown hair, exhaling slowly. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," Cobb managed.

* * *

Arthur was back at the warehouse early, looking over the schematics of the dreaming levels again. He'd seen them a hundred times since Ariadne had finished them, but he kept studying.

Cobb breezed in, not surprised to see the point man already hard at work. "Morning, Arthur."

He grunted something in return.

"Got a second?"

Arthur glanced up warily.

"About the aftermath..."

"Yusuf's got it covered."

"Have you fully accepted the fact that this may change your sister?"

"Someone took something from her, something that had _become_ her existence. She's already different."

Cobb spoke slowly, deliberately. "This could be _worse_ than different, though."

Arthur's demeanor became accusatory. "Are you trying to back out? Hours before we go under, are you walking away?"

"I'm just trying to make sure this is what you want. We're not giving Penelope the option here..."

"We give her the option, she says no. She doesn't know what she's missing."

"She's... She's a sweet girl, always has been. I'm just not sure you're going to recognize her on the other side."

Arthur's posture became more defensive.

Cobb held up his hand. "I'm not trying to pick a fight with you. I just want to make sure that you realize you've got until tonight to back out."

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"It's just an _option_."

"No. It's not." Arthur backed away from the table, turning away from the extractor. "Did you talk to Eames?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And I think your concerns are unfounded."

"Un..." He scoffed, turning on his heel. "Unfounded?" he repeated.

"He's the one who's concerned about you."

"He has no right."

"He has some right," Cobb said. "It's not just you going into the dream, it's not just you risking your life in Limbo."

"He's-"

"Fully aware of what's going on," came the irritated English accent.

Cobb and Arthur both turned to see Eames standing just inside the front door.

"Morning, chaps." He unbuttoned his suit coat, sliding his left hand into his pocket. "Arthur..."

"Don't start with me, Eames," he warned.

"You asked me for help. I'm trying to help you," Eames stated casually. "I've heard what she's had to say about post-Encapsulation victims. I've heard what Yusuf has said about every mixture he's got to combat it. Are you sure you can handle that?"

Arthur leveled his gaze at the forger. "There is no turning back, not from this."

Eames shrugged slightly. "Just, if it doesn't turn out the way you're hoping, well..." Eames looked squarely at the point man: "You better save that right cross for your own face."

Arthur's jaw tightened.

"We are less than ten hours from going under," Cobb said warningly. "And the two of you go the deepest _together_. I'm still not convinced you can set aside your differences for this."

"For my sister, I'll do anything," Arthur said.

"And I know my responsibilities," Eames assured them.

There was still the unasked question in Cobb's eyes: _But, can you be cordial?_

"Don't worry. Job's different than prep," Eames said, brushing past both of them, heading further into the warehouse.

Arthur took a shallow breath.

"It's not too late. I might be able to swap out levels with him," Cobb said quietly.

Arthur nodded. "We'll see where we are when we get into the dream."

* * *

Unexpectedly, she'd left work early. When Arthur pulled up into the parking spot, she was already waiting for him. He looked at her curiously as she climbed into the passenger seat.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"I didn't expect you for another ten minutes."

She shrugged. "It's Friday, a long weekend... I figured we might need to go over last-minute _somethings_ before we got started."

As Arthur pulled back into traffic, he shook his head. "Our mark is already where we need him."

"You've already picked him up?"

"We decided it would be best, safest, to pick him up, take him to the warehouse."

Penelope nodded, but there were still nagging questions that troubled her: "What about his security? Won't his people be wondering where he is?"

"We've taken care of it."

"Arthur-"

"Cobb and I are good at what we do," he said, glancing at her.

She nodded, quieting.

* * *

Yusuf was already stretched out on his lounge chair, his legs crossed at his ankles. While Eames and Ariadne were huddling over the last level of the dream, talking about the particulars, about the gear that needed to be stashed, about the endless possibilities they could face within the dream, he didn't have to worry about that. All he needed to focus on was keeping the dreamers alive for a little while, and that was fine by him.

He would leave the harder, more difficult levels for the more advanced dream-sharers.

Cobb, however, listened, pacing slowly. When he heard the familiar staccato sound of footsteps on the stairs leading to their level of the warehouse, however, he shushed them all.

"What is it?" Eames asked, his hand at the gun at his waist.

Cobb glanced at his watch. "They're early."

Ariadne and Eames rushed to cover the real mission materials, replacing it with the fake ones. Yusuf jumped to his feet as well.

Cobb moved, taking over for the forger. "You're supposed to be passed out already," he reminded the younger man.

Eames sprinted toward where the chairs were waiting. He had just leapt into one when the door opened, and Arthur slowly walked in.

Arthur hesitated just a moment longer, allowing for Eames to actually close his eyes.

"Good, you're here," Cobb said. "Let's get this show on the road. Eames has already been down for ten minutes." He motioned to Arthur and Penelope to join them.

Penelope looked at the mark. She swallowed hard. While it had been something only in theory, in idea for the past few days, it had become instantly real to her now.

"C'mon," Arthur said, guiding her closer to where the equipment was set up. He handed her to Cobb, who directed her into the empty chair next to Eames.

Cobb wordlessly set about hooking up the IV tube to her wrist, but she hesitated, stopping him before he'd actually done more than touch her sleeve.

"It's all right," she said. "I've got it."

"Are you..."

"I'm sure," she said.

Eames cracked one eye open slightly, catching a faint, squinting glimpse of his mark as she looked at the IV needle in her hand. She barely lifted her sleeve to affix the sedative's feed and immediately covered it back over again. He wondered what that meant, but closed his eye quickly as she settled back against her seat, glancing in his direction.

"Everybody ready?" Cobb asked, glancing around at the assembled team. He looked at each in turn, receiving nods from them, even a slight twitch of a finger from Eames, to indicate they were set. He eased to sit, leaning against the table that held the case with the timer. "Here goes," he said, plunging the button.

* * *

Coming attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

Cobb looked at the liquid within the tiny glass. "Any idea what this could be?"

"I've never seen it before," Arthur said. "You?"

Cobb shook his head.

Yusuf gasped slightly. "May I?"

Cobb held it out to the chemist.

He reached into his coat pocket, finding his glasses and sliding them on for a proper inspection. He carefully uncapped the bottle, wafting the scent his direction. It was deceptively sweet-smelling. Given the color, the viscosity, it was as he'd feared. He closed his eyes, twisting the lid back on tightly.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"If this is a clue, if this is what the Encapsulators used on your sister..." He drifted off, looking at the point man gravely. "We may be in for a bumpier ride than I ever imagined."


	5. Chapter 5

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Prep is a little different when Penelope comes to the warehouse. Eames stays sequestered in an office while Yusuf and Penelope work together on the scientific aspects of post-Encapsulation victims. Eames has concerns about whether or not Arthur has fully considered what the aftermath of Penelope's Encapsulation could do to her. Arthur's not convinced Eames can adequately reach Penelope, or if he does, that he'll hurt her. Cobb's worried about the both of them descending the dream together, but when the mission arrives, they have no choice but to go under together.

* * *

The decadently designed ballroom was packed. For a moment, Penelope felt entirely overwhelmed. She hadn't participated in a shared-dreaming experience in a while and, what she'd willingly stepped into, turned out to be a monumental occasion. She looked around, admiring the swirling dancers in black-tie finery and gorgeous ball gowns. Only when she glanced down at her own ensemble did she realize she didn't look out of place.

She ran her fingers over the deep, rich green silk that fit her so well. The strapless dress was exquisite but she was thrilled for the matching wrap that was looped over her arms, from her elbows to her wrists.

Somewhat calmer, she spotted Arthur and Ariadne standing in a corner. Ariadne's dress was a chiffon number in hot pink and orange. Penelope realized that the differences in dress was intentional, that while she and Ariadne shared similar traits-dark hair, dark eyes-that the coloration choices were specific. _She_ was supposed to draw the mark's attentions.

Arthur nodded at her before whispering something to Ariadne.

Penelope offered the most gracious smile she could before returning her attention to the rest of the party. She needed to find Mr. Eames.

He wasn't hard to spot upon a second look.

He was standing by himself, holding two glasses of champagne. While his smile was polite, it was thin, and he looked at each face as it passed him. He seemed somewhat anxious himself, she decided, maybe even a little disheartened.

Penelope glanced back, to see that Ariadne was gone and that Arthur was crossing toward her. As he joined her, she said nervously: "He's looking for someone."

"And that someone should be you. Go."

She hated seeing the look of sternness in her brother's eyes. "But-"

"Just stall him. That's all you have to do." His look softened somewhat. "Let him have a pleasant dream."

Closing her eyes, she knew that was her job, that was what she was supposed to do. She put one elegant heel in front of the other, crossing toward him. "Mr. Eames?" she ventured tentatively.

He turned, his blue-green eyes taking her in for the first time. It was an honest reaction, feeling that she'd knocked the breath out of him. "I'm sorry," he said. "Have we met?"

It was her turn to be shocked. While she'd known he was a British diplomat, she hadn't imagined he'd have such a resonant voice. "Not yet."

"Well, I must've been holding this glass for you, then," he said, offering her one of the untouched flutes of champagne.

Her smile was soft as she accepted the glass. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, Miss..."

"Penelope," she said.

"Well, Miss Penelope... Very pleased to meet you."

"Likewise, Mr. Eames."

* * *

Arthur stayed in the ballroom only long enough to see that Eames and Penelope were doing what needed to be done. As soon as he saw that Penelope had made contact, as soon as he'd seen that Eames had turned on the charm, he headed out into the evening air surrounding the Embassy.

Cobb whistled from the gardens, catching Arthur's attention. As the point man joined the rest of them, Cobb had to ask: "How's it going?"

"So far, so good. First order of business," he said, "we need a clue, we need to figure out where we're heading next level."

"The party is only occupying the first floor of the Embassy. There's one floor above it, plus extensive gardens, a garage," Ariadne said, recalling them from memory.

Cobb nodded. "No point in going back inside, not if we can find the clues out here. Plus, it'll give Eames and Penelope enough time to get acquainted. Arthur, Ariadne, check the garage, see what you find. Yusuf, you feel like prowling around out here?"

The chemist shrugged. "What are we looking for exactly?"

"Something that seems out of place, anything that we haven't specifically put into the dream," Arthur answered.

"And it could be anything," Cobb reminded. "Keep your eyes peeled."

"Call as soon as you find it," Arthur told Cobb, easing a hand onto Ariadne's lower back, to guide her toward the garage.

* * *

"So, what do you do, Miss Penelope."

"Nothing far so interesting as being a diplomat," she said, taking a small sip of her champagne.

He cast a furtive glance at the projections closest to them before leaning in toward her slightly. "Can I let you in on a secret?"

She glanced at him coyly.

"It's not all that exciting. It's mostly paperwork and meetings and long, boring plane rides. And then there are these events." Eames gestured around the room.

"They aren't all they're cracked up to be?"

"After putting in a long day at work, the very last thing you want to do is spend several hours in formal wear," he said, glancing down at his smart tuxedo, complete with black studs and gold cufflinks.

That sounded like her life for the past few days, putting in a full day and then some. She causally tucked a fallen, errant curl behind her ear. "I imagine that might get old."

"Sometimes," he conceded. Clearing his throat, he had to comment: "You know, you never did answer my question."

"I didn't?"

He shook his head.

"I'm afraid it's more of the paperwork, less of the meetings. As for the travel, well, that's nonexistent."

"Sounds dreadful."

She bit her lower lip, looking up at him. "Sometimes," she said, repeating his earlier quip.

Eames had to hand it to her. She had some game. It was actually rather fun, flirting with her. He reminded himself that it was just work, that he was doing this for Arthur, because she was Arthur's sister. There was a playfulness in her eyes, an innocence that was enticing, however. "Miss Penelope, I have another question for you, one of the _utmost_ importance."

"What's that?"

"Would you care to dance?"

* * *

Ariadne finally had to stop. She'd kept up with Arthur's long strides, clear across the yard and into the massive parking structure. Her shoes, however, were pointy-toed torture devices while his were shined loafers. It hardly seemed fair. "Arthur..."

He'd cupped his hands around his eyes, peering into the tinted windows of a Cadillac when he heard her call. He glanced back. "Are you all right?"

"I know the pain is all in my head, but it's still rough," she said, losing three inches of height as she stepped out of the designer heels.

"Catch your breath," he said, moving onto peek into the back of the next car.

As leaned against the back of one of a dozen stretch limousines, she rubbed at the balls of her aching, stockinged feet. "I just wish it were easier, that we knew what we were looking for."

"We do know."

"We don't know _specifically_," she amended. "I mean, if we knew to look for some big red box, that would be handy. But, just looking for something that's not quite right? Isn't that like a needle in a haystack?"

"Which is why I haven't stopped moving yet," he said, dropping onto one knee to peer beneath an Audi.

"Wouldn't it be easier to somehow have the dreamer clear away all of the, well, I guess the best way to describe it might be the _non-essential_ parts of the dream?"

Arthur shook his head as he stood, dusting off his tux pants. "It would alert the subconscious that something was wrong. And, given the fact that we don't know how _well_ her subconscious was trained, the very last thing we need is for it to become militarized."

Ariadne watched as Arthur checked three more cars in quick succession. "You love her very much."

"She's the only one I ever considered family," he commented.

"Why is that?"

"Too long a story to get into," he told her honestly.

"Someday, will you tell me?"

He paused, glancing at her. "Someday, maybe."

* * *

Yusuf tripped over a sprinkler head, nearly falling to his knees.

"Watch your step," Cobb said, offering him a supportive hand.

"Thank you," Yusuf said, straightening his jacket and planting his feet better. "As the dreamer, you would think you could have more control over aspects like _that_."

Cobb just smiled. "The perils of shared-dreaming. Sometimes the details aren't yours."

"How can we know, then, if the details we find, the oddities are actually from Penelope's subconscious and not, say, yours or Ariadne's?"

"Once we find it, whatever it is, we'll make sure no one else is familiar with it."

Yusuf nodded, accepting that for several quiet steps before frowning. "What if the peculiarity belongs to Eames?"

"If it boils down to that, we'll distract Penelope, try to get a fast answer from Eames on his own."

Yusuf glanced back at the warm lights through the picture windows behind them. "Wonder how the party's going." He rather missed the extravagance of flying first class on Saito's airline. He wouldn't mind working on another job with a client like that.

Cobb just smiled. "We get done with the gardens soon enough, we can head inside."

* * *

Penelope hesitated. Part of her wanted to be whisked away in the dream, to have a pleasant experience of her own. The other part realized that she had two left feet in the real world.

Eames noted well that she dropped her left hand toward where a pocket should've been but her dress, elegant in its simplicity, didn't have such a convenience. He'd wager she was trying to find her totem, though, he wasn't entirely sure why she needed a reality check. Perhaps he was moving too fast. "I'm not the greatest myself," he said. "Not the most graceful. I just thought," he said, glancing around the dancing pairs, "that we might get lost in the crowd somewhere."

"I can't guarantee you I won't step on your toes."

"That's all right, Miss Penelope, because I _can _guarantee I won't mind." He offered her his hand.

She just looked at it at first. She was supposed to distract him, to keep him occupied. And if dancing was the idea, then they would dance. She inhaled sharply, briefly, before timidly placing her hand in his.

They both abandoned their drinks as he led her to the crowded dance floor. The music was theatrical, impressive. A small brass and strings orchestral group sat on an elevated stage in the far corner of the ballroom.

"Here goes," he murmured.

She could see a look of wariness take to his eyes, realizing that it was his turn to be hesitant as he eased a hand onto her back, pulling her ever-so-slightly closer to him. Her breath caught in her throat at the nearness.

The dance began awkwardly, nearly bumping into another couple. When Eames cleared his throat, when he got past the odd feelings that had taken up residence in his chest, when he adjusted to her tender touch on his shoulder, to the softness of her fingers against his, that was when he became lighter on his feet.

All she had to do was keep up.

She wasn't particularly good at first, but she did manage to avoid his toes with her shoes. It took a solid minute or two for her to let go, but once she did, it was magical. They spun and twirled, gliding across the polished hardwood. They both were having fun.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd done something that wasn't work-related and, by the sound of their earlier conversation, it sounded like he wasn't entirely sure either.

Eames almost lost his footing when he noticed that her smile came easily, joining a rosy hue that took to her cheeks, dotted by shallow dimples he was sure he'd missed in the photographs Cobb and Arthur had shown him.

As the song came to an end and their feet stilled, he bowed deeply to her.

Flushed and flustered, she managed a gracious curtsey.

* * *

Ariadne noticed that Arthur was looking oddly at a truck at the end of the third parking level. "What is it?"

The vehicle looked out of place, a boxy, rusty, pieced-together GMC from decades earlier, not the sleek-looking newer, polished models they'd searched individually.

Arthur cleared his throat uncomfortably. "That was my first car."

Ariadne arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

He nodded.

"What's it doing at a fancy Embassy shindig?"

"Good question," he said as he crossed toward it, ignoring the fifteen or so cars between him and it.

She trailed along behind him, her heels hanging off the fingers on her left hand. She watched as he slowed down the closer he got the jalopy. She hated having to ask, but she felt it was necessary: "Do you think this is your projection? Or something from Penelope's mind?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But, I don't remember it being here, not until just moments ago, do you?"

She shook her head.

Sighing a little, Arthur headed for the driver's side door, opening it. The upholstery was stained and discolored in the same ways as it had been before. There were even the few cigarette burns in the driver's seat from where he'd bought it used. He eased behind the wheel, remembering how difficult it used to be to turn the engine over, how hard he used to have to hit the breaks in order to stop it.

He'd had more than a few close calls behind that wheel, some with his sister in the passenger seat.

As he glanced toward the empty chair next to him, his eyes landed on a small bottle. Reaching out, he picked it up, looking at it.

Ariadne frowned. "Did you find it?"

"I think we might've," he said, pulling his cell phone out of the interior pocket of his tuxedo jacket, to call Cobb.

* * *

Yusuf trailed after Cobb as they ascended to the third floor of the parking garage, winded after a jaunt clear across the gardens, slipping past the Embassy employees milling about the side entrance. He needed to be in much better shape, if he intended to keep up with this crew.

"What is it?" Cobb asked as he saw Arthur and Ariadne just ahead.

Arthur held out the vial.

"Are you sure this is our clue?" Cobb asked.

"Did you or Yusuf find anything?" challenged Arthur.

"A whole bunch of pollen," Yusuf said, making a face. "Few bees. Crickets. Other than that?" He shrugged.

Ariadne smiled slightly.

Cobb looked at the liquid within the tiny glass, at the odd paper label with nothing but a number across the bottom. "Any idea what this could be?"

"I've never seen it before," Arthur said. "You?"

Cobb shook his head.

Yusuf gasped slightly. "May I?"

Cobb held it out to the chemist.

He reached into his coat pocket, finding his glasses and sliding them on for a proper inspection. He carefully uncapped the bottle, wafting the scent his direction. It was deceptively sweet-smelling. Given the color, the viscosity, it was as he'd feared. He closed his eyes, twisting the lid back on tightly.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"If this is a clue, if this is what the Encapsulators used on your sister..." He drifted off, looking at the point man gravely. "We may be in for a bumpier ride than I ever imagined."

"What does it do?" Ariadne tried to keep the concern and fear out of her voice but, as she listened to herself speak, she realized she hadn't done a very good job accomplishing it.

"It's a very powerful sedative, one that I wouldn't dare use, not in any of my compounds."

"Why?" Arthur demanded.

"Why? Well, it's not _just_ because it's an illegally produced substance. It's dangerous, potentially deadly. She would've been down for days with this, Arthur. Not just a sleeping state, but a comatose state. A vegetative state. A state like that... she had no conscious or _subconscious_ abilities to fend off her Encapsulators. She's lucky she woke up from it at all."

"Why not just kill her?" Arthur asked, looking at Cobb. "Why take something from her like that? Where the possibility was she might not ever wake up? Why go to those extremes?"

Cobb shook his head. "Anything else useful you know about that, Yusuf?"

"There aren't many suppliers of this particular ingredient... But," he said, "see the encoded numbers on the bottom of the label?" Off Cobb's nod, he continued: "That's a location designation."

"What does it correspond to?" Arthur asked.

Yusuf looked at the point man. "Washington D.C."

"That's our next dream level," Arthur said, looking at Ariadne.

"Let's go introduce Mr. Charles to Mr. Eames," Cobb said, clapping Arthur on the shoulder.

* * *

She wasn't sure how long they'd been dancing or talking or _flirting, _but it was long enough that she was starting to really enjoy his company, his attention.

They stilled as another song ended, and, in the few seconds before the next one began, Eames leaned towards her, to whisper in her ear: "It's terribly warm in here all the sudden, Miss Penelope. Perhaps we should get some air?"

She nodded, knowing well her face must've been flushed.

He slipped his hand to her lower back, guiding her off of the dance floor, away from the party, and into the cool night. "Much nicer out here," he said, taking a deep breath.

"It is, thank you," she murmured, reaching up to brush the errant curl behind her ear for the hundredth time since entering the dream.

He, however, beat her to it. No sooner had he tucked it away, it returned to the side of her face again. "I think you may as well give up that fight," he told her. "Not that I blame the tress, mind. I'm sure it's a lovely cheek to caress."

"Mr. Eames," she breathed, "I..." She was completely out of sorts. She felt searingly hot, but when the breezes blew, when the cold air hit her skin, she trembled.

He rested his left hand again on her hip. It was a light touch, certainly not a possessive gesture. "Are you all right?" he asked.

How had she managed to get in so far over her head? How had she managed to lose sight of everything? She felt like Cinderella, given a beautiful gown, introduced to a handsome prince, but time had gotten away from her. It was just a spell, soon to be broken. None of it was real. She smoothed his jacket lapel, unsure of what to say or do. She was desperate to buy time, to have another moment or two to gather her thoughts.

It didn't help, however, when he moved to stand closer to her.

She looked up at him, in those knowledgeable eyes she'd been drawn to when she'd first taken a look at the mission Cobb had outlined.

"Do I frighten you?"

"What? No," she said, shaking her head.

"Seems, whenever I ask a question, your answers flee."

"Seems I can't keep my head straight when I'm around you."

He smiled-boyish, charming. "And that's bad?"

"Maybe," she said, smiling in spite of herself.

With his right hand, he trailed his fingers slowly up her wrap-covered arm. He was barely touching her but it was having the intended effects. She shivered again, shifting closer to him. His fingers continued their ascent, cresting her shoulder before his thumb finally found her cheek. "My earlier assumption was right," he told her quietly.

She closed her eyes, wishing she could control her breathing better. _It's just a dream, just a dream_, she repeated to herself over and over. But, with the feelings he was causing, with the parts of her body she felt coming alive, it was hard to convince herself that her mantra was true.

* * *

The rest of the team made their way back toward the Embassy. Ariadne finally eased her feet back into the torture devices she'd been subjected to, standing taller once again. Yusuf pondered as he walked, considering the uses of the particular ingredient in Penelope's Encapsulation, all the while Arthur and Cobb quietly kept the lead.

Ariadne nearly walked into Arthur, though, when he abruptly stopped. "Easy on the breaks," she goaded gently. When he didn't respond right away, she looked at him, at the tightness in his expression. She followed his gaze, finding a sight she was sure the point man hadn't expected either. She never would've imagined, after seeing the worry in Penelope's face when they first arrived in the dream, that the scientist would've succumbed to the forger's charms. "Wow," she murmured.

Even Yusuf let out a low wolf whistle.

Arthur's initial shock melted into impassiveness. "It's all just an act. He studied her for a reason."

Ariadne knew, however, that whatever Arthur was conceding to Eames, it was an uneasy alliance. "You don't like this, though, do you?"

"I don't have to," Arthur said as he glanced back at her. "It's the only way." Looking forward again and picking up speed, he called out, just as Eames's head began to dip toward his sister's. "Penelope!"

Both Eames and Penelope turned to see the man cutting through the grass to join them.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Eames, who only held Penelope closer in response.

"Is this a friend of yours, love?" asked the forger. While he hadn't intended to use the term of endearment, it slipped out.

"Mr. Eames," Penelope managed, her voice catching only a little, "may I present Mr. Charles."

Arthur held his hand out to Eames.

Eames regarded the point man for a moment before accepting the shake, keeping his left arm securely around Penelope.

"Mr. Eames, it is imperative that I speak to you immediately."

"Whatever it is, Mr. Charles, can't it wait till tomorrow? More normal business hours?" he asked, still playing his role as the blissfully ignorant mark. "I have to say, I'm rather enjoying my evening."

"Mr. Eames, what I have to tell you? It can't wait," Arthur said gravely.

* * *

Coming attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

Before Arthur could respond, he felt eyes on him, lots of eyes. He turned, looking at the projections that were staring back at him.

"What?" Eames asked, turning to follow the point man's vision. "This isn't good," he murmured. "What'd you do to incur their wrath, hmm?"

"Nothing. We shouldn't have brought their attention at all."

The forger scoped out the rest of the area, spotting the distant look in Penelope's eyes, even from across the yard. "It's got to be your sister," he said as he began crossing back toward her.

"Eames, wait," Arthur said, catching the forger's arm.

"Do you want to be found out at this level? Or do you want to get your sister's memory back?" Eames asked plainly.

With a sigh, Arthur released him.


	6. Chapter 6

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: As the team descends into the dream, Eames and Penelope play their parts perhaps too well, really enjoying each other's company and keeping the other distracted. Yusuf and Cobb search the grounds while Arthur and Ariadne check the garage at the Embassy. Arthur discovers a vial which Yusuf identifies as a particularly strong and dangerous chemical component. Before Eames and Penelope descend into their own reality, Arthur arrives as Mr. Charles.

* * *

Ariadne stood with Penelope as the party goers filed out of the Embassy and into the night. The scientist hadn't said much of anything since Arthur and Eames had entered into a quiet conversation, away from the departing revelers. "Are you okay?" ventured Ariadne.

Penelope, who wasn't paying close enough attention to what was going on around her, knew that Ariadne had said something, and it must've been to her, as Cobb and Yusuf had gone back to the garage, securing transportation for the remainder of the first level. "I'm sorry, Ariadne, what'd you say?"

The architect took a guess: "You liked him. Didn't you?"

She didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to tug the pins from her hair, freeing all her curls and running her fingers through them. "I let myself get lost in the dream."

"You did your job," Ariadne said.

"Not in the smartest way possible," Penelope admitted, chancing a glance at her brother and Eames. "I should've been more aware," she said quietly, chastising herself.

"It would've happened to any of us," tried the architect. "It's... it's even happened to me before, with Arthur."

Penelope glanced at her, grinning a little.

"It... Well... Don't get all that excited," Ariadne said, feeling her cheeks catch fire. "It was sneaky."

"All Arthur's doing?"

The architect nodded.

Penelope smiled knowingly. "He's a good guy, y'know. One of the best protectors a girl could ever know."

Ariadne watched as a vacant, distant look returned to the scientist's dark eyes. It worried her. The very last thing they needed at this moment was a visit from an uncontrollable projection from memory. "Penelope?" She swallowed hard, watching as the projections, who had been lazily leaving, stopped and glanced back at them. Some even looked at Arthur and Eames.

She could only imagine the kind of attention Cobb and Yusuf might've been getting at the garage.

* * *

"I think you might be more convincing, darling, if you actually _looked_ like you were speaking to me," Eames said, sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

Arthur adjusted his cufflinks. "You and Penelope..."

"Oh, here we go," he muttered, sighing. "I've done what you asked, Arthur."

"Really?" he asked harshly.

"Your job, with the others, to find the clues. My job, to keep her distracted, off balance. So that she doesn't realize that this is really _her_ dream. So far, so good, are we not?"

"You have a _pet name_," Arthur said with disgust, "for everyone, don't you?"

"All the better to _annoy_ you with, my dear. What's that got to do with anything we've got going on tonight?"

The big bad wolf imagery fit the forger, Arthur had to agree, but he wisely bit his tongue.

"I'm assuming you've found whatever it was you were looking for or else you wouldn't have come back yet. So, what is it? Another photograph? Another trip down Memory Lane?"

"Based on the vial we found and Yusuf's knowledge of the chemical and drug trade, best bets are that she was Encapsulated in D.C., that conference, where she was supposed to give her report on the dream-like state."

"This helps us how exactly?"

"Ariadne's level, we're going to D.C. It's a better fit for your diplomat than New York City anyway."

"Very well," Eames said. "Shall we dive into another dream, then?"

Before Arthur could respond, he felt eyes on him, lots of eyes. He turned, looking at the projections who were staring back at him. They were still walking, still getting into their vehicles to leave, but they were singularly focused on the outsiders.

"What?" Eames asked. As he glanced around, he spotted what it was Arthur had to have seen. "Well, this isn't good," he murmured. "What'd you do to incur their wrath, hmm?"

"Nothing. We shouldn't have brought their attention at all."

The forger scoped out the rest of the area, spotting the distant look in Penelope's eyes, even from across the yard. "It's got to be your sister," he said as he began crossing back toward her.

"Eames, wait," Arthur said, catching the forger's arm.

"Do you want to be found out at this level? Or do you want to get your sister's memory back?" Eames asked plainly.

With a sigh, Arthur released him.

Eames politely dashed through the crowd of people. He caught Ariadne's gaze, subtly gesturing her off before approaching Penelope.

Ariadne backed away slowly, mindful to avoid drawing any further attention of the projections.

Eames touched Penelope's hand lightly.

Arthur closed his eyes as all the projections stopped, standing stock still.

She looked up at him, shocked. "Mr. Eames..."

"You work with Mr. Charles?"

She nodded.

"And you trust him?"

"Implicitly."

He allowed his fingers to weave among hers. "You're the one I trust," he said.

Penelope glanced at her brother, who had opened his eyes but was watching her-watching _them-_intently.

"Stay with me?" Eames asked in a whisper. "For this dreaming or this Extraction or whatever this is..."

It was her assignment, and she needed to be more mindful of it. No matter how fancy the party, no matter how distracting _he_ was, she needed to stay more alert, to be more aware of her own responsibilities. But, that included keeping him close. It was almost as though he was doing that part of the job for her. "If that's what you'd like," Penelope said finally, looking up at him.

Ariadne and Arthur watched in amazement as the projections continued about their business, bidding the others adieu and ignoring the dream-sharing interlopers.

Arthur pulled out his cell phone again, calling Cobb. "We're set."

"That was a _close_ one," Cobb muttered.

"Yeah. Maybe Eames won't let me down after all," Arthur begrudgingly said.

"We'll be there in less than five minutes. Be ready."

Arthur closed his phone, crossing toward Ariadne, Eames and Penelope. "Ride's on the way."

"A ride? We're sleeping in a car?" Eames asked, playing his role again. "That is what you said, right? Intentionally going into a dream, to prevent..."

Arthur, however, wasn't paying any attention to him.

Eames followed the point man's gaze, to the suited men who exited the Embassy, glancing around. "We should go, shouldn't we?"

"We should've ten minutes ago," Arthur said, looking back at the garage as the sleek black limousine cruised toward them.

Cobb jumped out of the front passenger seat, opening the back for them. "Mr. Charles..."

"C'mon," Arthur murmured, guiding his little sister forward first.

With Penelope and Eames safely inside, Arthur made sure Ariadne slipped in next. He chanced one last glance at the door, toward who he knew had to be part of Penelope's subconscious security detail. As he slipped within the limousine, one looked back at him. "Drive," he told Yusuf as Cobb distributed IV tubes.

The chemist casually pulled further down the driveway, nearing the gatehouse.

Eames openly watched this time as Penelope injected herself. Her wrist was only uncovered briefly before inserting the needle. As soon as she was hooked up, she covered it again with her wrap. When she glanced up at him, she saw him looking at her and quickly averted her eyes.

"I'm not big on needles myself," he told her quietly. In truth, they didn't bother him, but there was something about the act of attaching herself to the machine that was troubling to her.

"It's nothing," she assured him before glancing at her brother.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yusuf, you got this?"

"Didn't let you down the last time, did I?" countered the chemist. "Sweet dreams," he announced before depressing the button in the center of the device.

* * *

The neoclassical monolith in the distance looked similar enough to the U.S. Capitol Building that Penelope, who'd only been to D.C. a handful of times in her life, couldn't tell the difference. She was distracted by the fact that she'd turned up in the dream by herself to pay close enough attention to the details.

She searched the faces of the passersby, but she didn't see any of the people she'd descended with into the new dream. Just before she panicked entirely, she slipped her hand into the tailored skirt pocket of her suit, her fingers closing around the familiar red die.

"Miss Penelope?"

She spun on her heel, discovering that her shoes were flats this time. "Mr. Eames..."

"This is really entirely too formal. And Penelope is entirely too long a name. Not that it isn't beautiful and enchanting in its own right, but isn't there a nickname, some shortened form you prefer? Penny, perhaps?"

She smiled softly but before she had an opportunity to respond, someone else called to her.

"Penelope."

She turned again, seeing Arthur with Cobb and Ariadne standing behind him. "There you are."

Arthur nodded at Eames. "We should get you off the street, sir. Penelope, find some place to hole up?"

Penelope eased her hand into the crook of the forger's elbow, her fingertips resting lightly on his forearm.

"Stay low," Cobb told the scientist, who nodded.

Arthur watched as Penelope and Eames continued down the sidewalk, blending easily into the crowd of other Beltway denizens in dark suits. "Cobb?"

"Don't worry. You take Ariadne. As soon as I find anything, I'll let you know," Cobb promised.

"We'll take the north side," Arthur said, guiding the architect that direction.

Before they'd gone more than a few steps, though, Ariadne stopped. "Wait, Cobb?"

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing back at her, shading his eyes in the afternoon sun.

"The first clue came from a memory," she said simply. "Something from Arthur's past, something that'll lead to Penelope's future."

"Are there any specific memories, anything you think I might need to look out for?" Cobb asked, looking at the point man.

Arthur hesitated, squinting against the harsh sunlight. "I'd be afraid to guess anything, to bring in one of my own projections without meaning to."

Cobb nodded, sighing. "Go. I'm sure we'll know when Yusuf gets into trouble on the level above us."

* * *

Cobb's words of warning kept replaying in her head. Somehow, she doubted that wandering around the streets of the subconscious was all that smart. "Looks like a cafe ahead," she commented casually.

He nodded. "Shall we stop?"

"Might be a good place hide."

"Very well," he said, guiding her toward the coffee shop.

It was a quaint-looking place from the outside, with a few tables enclosed in a low cast-iron fence. The picture windows showed customers bustling about in line, some seated at plush chairs with books or laptops. A few tables were strewn with newspapers.

Once they actually stepped inside, however, it was a very different scene from the one either of them had expected.

"Uh..." Eames, who was never at a loss for words, found his tongue unable to form a coherent verbal response. His mind, however, silently accused the dreamer, Ariadne, for putting a casino in downtown D.C. It took a moment before he realized he'd seen it before, when investigating Arthur's encapsulated dream.

It was the same casino where Penelope had worked.

He looked at her quickly, watching as her eyes widened in fear, in panic. In those brief seconds of her realizing what was going on, the projections at the gaming tables stopped. The projections wandering from the casino to the restaurant to the bar all stopped as well. All eyes turned to them.

While the music hadn't stopped, the other sound effects-the coins jangling, the cards shuffling- had ceased.

"Perhaps we need a drink instead of a coffee," he said, easing an arm around her shoulders lightly.

At his touch, the projections returned to participating in the scene, whether it was betting or laughing or having a good time.

"As a diplomat, have you ever had dealings with Las Vegas?" she asked, her voice catching on the city name.

Eames slowly shook his head.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Eames," Penelope said as he guided her away from the front door.

"What do you have to apologize for?" he asked, thankful they'd dodged another bullet, no matter how momentary.

"This shouldn't be here. I'm afraid I've brought in this particular location from my subconscious. This..." She looked at him. "You probably should've stayed with someone else."

"You're the one I trust, remember?"

"I'm not entirely sure I trust _myself_ here," she said quietly, glancing toward the bustling floor of the casino.

"We're avoiding my subconscious, right? Because someone else is trying to access it... Maybe, if this is partly _your _subconscious, mine won't know to look for me here, right?" he asked.

Penelope struggled to follow that logic, still flabbergasted and disoriented from showing up in her own memory. "I..."

He offered her a slight, comforting smile. "Here's an idea, yeah? There's a bar on the mezzanine level. We can have a drink, calm down... and have a great view of what's going on, in case there's something we need to watch out for."

She thought about that for a moment, nodding slowly.

* * *

Cobb moved quickly but as nonchalantly as possible through the crowded streets. He kept his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, anything that wasn't in the initial concept of the dream. He wasn't fully aware of all the tricks of the level, but he was certain of the basic designs, the architecture of the buildings, the particular color and texture of the concrete sidewalks and the like. It was, at the very least, a start.

What Ariadne said stuck out in his mind, though. Arthur's encapsulation had taken them into his old home, brought them face to face with his mother. From the sounds of what he'd missed in the first level, the initial clue had been hidden within memories as well.

He had seen a dozen or so photographs from when Arthur and Penelope had been smaller. There hadn't been very many, but he remembered sitting down after dinner one night at Penelope's New York City apartment and looking over Mal's shoulder as the scientist had explained the story behind each image in her album.

_"Arthur was the shortstop for the high school team," Penelope explained from her seat on the curved gray couch, plush with overstuffed pillows. "One of the best hitters, too. I'll never forget, his senior year, the grand slam..."_

_ "Do you have to recall that story _every_ time I come for a visit?"_

_ She glanced at her brother who was sitting precariously in a burgundy wingback armchair. "It was talked about for years after you left."_

_ "And you know this how?" Arthur challenged._

_ "Because I was only a sophomore when you graduated, remember? Believe me, you were still a legend."_

_ Cobb snickered, trying to cover as though he'd coughed._

_ "Yuk it up," Arthur sighed._

_ "I'm just trying to picture, y'know, the _legendary_ Arthur, star ballplayer," Cobb said with a shrug._

_ "Behave, children," Mal chided, garnering a giggle from the hostess._

_ "I'd behave better if she'd retire that story and that picture," Arthur said crossly._

_ Cobb noticed that Penelope shrank back into the couch slightly. While she was still looking at the opened book, he could tell he wasn't seeing what was actually on the page. She was somewhere else, somewhere deeper, somewhere lost. "Penelope?"_

_ She blinked a few times, coming back to reality, back to the present. "I'm sorry, Dom, what was that?"_

_ Cobb shot a worried look at Mal, who patted the younger woman's hand. _

_ "It is getting terribly late," Mal said, ever gracious, ever wise. "Dinner was absolutely lovely, Penelope. We must to do it again sometime. Sometime very soon."_

_ Penelope positively beamed._

She'd always been a sweet girl. And he wasn't entirely sure why that moment from his past came to light, why he focused on it within the dream. He sighed, pushing himself further ahead. He needed to find the clue. While it may have been connected to the past, it certainly _wasn't_ in the past.

* * *

He'd taken a chance when he'd ordered two glasses of whiskey, but he'd remembered the brand from Arthur's memory.

She'd looked at the glass for a solid three seconds before accepting the tumbler. Inhaling slowly, deeply, she recognized the familiar scent and coloring. "Jack Daniels."

"When in the 'States," Eames dodged.

She smiled a little, taking her first sip. She knew the burn was all in her mind but it was comforting all the same as it slid down her throat.

"So, Las Vegas..."

She nodded, glancing out at the hustling, bustling action below.

"You come here often?" he asked with an impish smile. It was a cheesy line, definitely not a typical Eames line, but one that a socially inept diplomat might employ.

She shook her head. "Not in a long time. I... I grew up here."

"In a casino?"

"Close to here," she amended.

"I'm sure it was a very interesting city to grow up in."

She licked her lips. "I'm not sure interesting is what I'd call it. It..." She took another sip. "It was a childhood."

He could see that her eyes were getting that distant, unfocused look again, the same one that had almost gotten them discovered on Yusuf's dream level. He slid his chair closer to her, resting his arm against the back of her chair. "There are far more interesting places to visit than the past," he whispered to her.

She smiled a little, glancing back at him. "If I didn't know better, Mr. Eames, I'd think that _you_ were the one here to take care of _me._"

"Well, now, that would be an interesting trick, wouldn't it?" he asked her. "I'm... I'm completely amazed that this is even a dream right now. It feels so very real."

"That's kind of the point. The subconscious creates everything around you, from what you're wearing to what you're eating to what you're sitting on... It's supposed to seem real, to feel real, to be _almost _real."

"You sound like you've studied this," he said, taking a sip of his own drink casually.

She gave a half shrug. "It is my area of expertise. I study the subconscious, the idea behind shared dreaming..."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"What kinds of things have you discovered?"

"Well, I..." She stopped abruptly. She shook her head, trying again. "It's run of the mill, really ordinary kinds of research. I have a lab in New York; I study the effects of certain chemicals on the body, the long-term, the short-term... I study the peculiarities within the shared dreaming, what makes it different from a normal dream."

"Sounds utterly fascinating."

"I'm rather intrigued by it all," she admitted.

He watched as her brown eyes took in the projections around them.

"I mean, to think that all of this... that all of this is fake... that it's all a figment of a dreamer's imagination... It's amazing, what the brain is capable of."

He watched as she stiffened, as her shoulders seized in toward her neck, as she sat up straighter. He casually followed her line of sight, landing on an older gentleman.

He was distinguished looking, mid fifties if Eames had to guess. His hair was a steel gray color, thinning at the temples but otherwise still relatively intact. He wore an exquisitely tailored suit, one the forger knew would've had to have been made specifically for him had it been in real life. While he seemed to be a man on a mission, his gait was distinctive. He walked with almost a shuffling step, listing ever so slightly to the right, as though walking through an old injury that hadn't healed properly.

"The projections, they're all images of your subconscious, right?" Eames asked.

Numbly, she nodded.

"Does that mean they're all memories of people you know?"

"Not necessarily," she said. "People you know, people you've seen in passing... features that made some kind of impression on your subconscious at one point or another. It's the most powerful kind of memory, the subconscious. You think you remember things. What you ate for dinner last night, where you left your car keys... the first person you ever kissed." She shook her head. "The subconscious remembers so much more than that. It remembers layers upon layers of information. Things that you barely know while awake are things that are fully developed and completely rendered in your subconscious, whether you realize it or not."

"But, that fellow there," he said, pointing to the silver-haired man as he disappeared. "You know him?"

She glanced up at the man sitting beside her. "I... I don't know."

"You froze when you saw him."

"Mr. Eames, this isn't... this isn't something we should be talking about. The more we talk about it, the more I think about it, the more likely it is for him to come here... the more likely it is for us to be found out by other projections, the more likely it is we could..."

"The more likely it is we could die in Limbo, right?" he asked, looking at her.

She nodded.

Eames sighed, downing half his drink in one gulp. "That's a place I'd really rather not visit."

"Me, too," she said quietly.

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

"It's better to work through it now, before it your _concerns_ grow into _problems_."

"I'm just worried about keeping all of you alive as you descend the levels."

"We prepared your kick specifically for you. You shouldn't have any problem with her subconscious."

"What if there are, like, armed dolphins...?"

Arthur cracked a smile, looking at the directory of the office. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

"You don't know that for sure, though. I mean, it could be anything..."

"It's my sister's subconscious. I'm fairly certain she's never considered _that_ before."

Ariadne quieted for a long moment. "What do you think is going on up there?" she asked, glancing at the ceiling.

"Second floor, passport office," he said, reading off the directory.

"No, no, I meant with Yusuf."

"Well... There's no music yet. That's a good sign. We aren't floating in zero gravity; that's an even better sign."


	7. Chapter 7

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Penelope's wandering mind almost gets the team caught on the first level, but Eames is able to keep the scientist distracted enough to keep going. The next level is based off of Washington D.C., and the team splits up. Cobb and his memories of Penelope from years gone by head one direction, Arthur and Ariadne travel another, while Penelope and Eames try to keep a low profile. Their low profile drops them right into the middle of a familiar casino. One of the projections startles Penelope and while Eames wants to know why, she can't give him an answer.

* * *

He almost forgot that he was supposed to be paying attention to his surroundings, that he wasn't _actually_ driving through the bustling city in a sleek limousine. Of course, what would've made the dream perfect would've been if someone else was driving him instead of the other way around.

Yusuf glanced back at his snoozing passengers.

Ariadne's coiffured head was tipped over onto Arthur's shoulder.

Cobb had slumped against the window.

Eames hadn't seemed to have moved since he'd pulled out of the embassy gates.

It was the mark, however, that gave him the most pause. Penelope's face wasn't as serene as the others. Her expression looked pinched, pained.

Quickly, he returned his gaze to the front windshield, his dark eyes roving the periphery, to see if there was anything coming.

With the Fisher Inception, the mark's face had been covered with a hood the entire time he drove the sleeping team around. It would've been handy, if he'd been given a head's up whenever the militarized subconscious was attacking based off facial expressions.

He was too busy paying attention to what might be coming from a distance that he failed to see the brake lights on the car in front of him until it was too late. The nose of the limousine collided with the back of the sedan.

All of his passengers were thrown forward.

Cobb slipped to the floorboards.

Arthur and Ariadne fell back against their seats in much the same position they had been in before the fender-bender.

Eames's head rolled on his shoulders and his chin came to rest on his chest.

Penelope's expression hadn't changed.

"Oh... crap," Yusuf muttered, climbing out of the driver's seat.

The driver of the other car was already standing beside his crunched vehicle, his fists clenched, his arms raised, his voice shrill. "Were you paying the slightest attention?"

"I-I'm sorry," the chemist said, tripping over his own words, half afraid that the projection was going to pull an assault weapon from his car and try to blow them all up. "Look, it's not actually that bad," he said, looking at the damage.

"Not that _bad_? Are you _mental_?"

Yusuf held his hands up in surrender. "You're not hurt, I'm not hurt... it could've been worse..." He glanced nervously around, at the other cars that began slowing down as they passed them on the road.

"You..." The projection drifted off. He lowered his arms and his hands relaxed. "You're right."

The chemist's eyebrows flew up his forehead. "Come again?"

"Nothing a little visit at the garage won't fix, right, mate?"

"Uh... Sure."

"Have a great night, yeah?"

"You, too," Yusuf said, watching as the projection got back behind the wheel and drove off. He waited for a few moments, watching as the traffic patterns returned to normal, that there weren't any other rubberneckers trying to get a peek. He slid into the front of the limo, looking at his charges.

Penelope's face was much softer. The lines were missing from her forehead; her lips weren't pursed together, but more natural-looking.

He smiled, nodding. It was like having his own crystal ball. If he could keep an eye on her face, he'd know when the projections would turn against him. Not a bad thing at all.

* * *

Arthur glanced back at Ariadne, standing further down the sidewalk, who was thanking the projection she'd been talking to. "Anything?"

The architect shook her head. "There has to be something here, right? Something tangible, something actually within the level."

"It'll be here," Arthur said, climbing up another set of marble stairs to yet another building.

Ariadne regretted making so many stairs, so many alcoves and hiding places. She rubbed at her forehead. Again, she knew the pain was all in her head, but it was an overwhelming task. She still wouldn't have minded being able to tweak some of the particulars of the dream, removing the superfluous details and finding what they needed.

But, seeing as how she was the dreamer this level, she would then be stuck on the run from Penelope's armed and dangerous subconscious for who knew how long. Because, once they got done here, there were still more levels to descend.

While she wouldn't feel like she'd been in the dream as long, she still needed to buy the others enough time on the lower, more difficult levels, while keeping all of them alive.

That responsibility weighed heavily on her.

Arthur stopped when he saw the panicked look on her face. "What is it?"

She looked up, surprised. "What's what?"

"What are you thinking?" he specified.

"Just concerned," she said, moving to join him.

"About what?" he asked as they entered the building.

She hesitated.

"It's better to work through it now, before it your _concerns_ grow into _problems_."

"I'm just worried about keeping all of you alive as you descend the levels."

"We prepared your kick specifically for you. You shouldn't have any problem with her subconscious."

"What if there are, like, armed dolphins...?"

Arthur cracked a smile, looking at the directory of the office. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

"You don't know that for sure, though. I mean, it could be anything..."

"It's my sister's subconscious. I'm fairly certain she's never considered _that_ before."

Ariadne quieted for a long moment. "What do you think is going on up there?" she asked, glancing toward the ceiling.

"Second floor, passport office," he said, reading off the listing.

"No, no, I meant with Yusuf."

"Well... There's no music yet. That's a good sign. We aren't floating in zero gravity; that's an even better sign."

Ariadne nodded as they continued their search in the building. She wasn't silent long. "She seems nice, your sister."

"She's the best," he said quietly.

* * *

"I used to work here."

Eames glanced over at Penelope. While he'd discovered that bit of information about her through Arthur's dream as well as through his research before _this_ dream, his cover wasn't supposed to know that. "Oh?"

"I was a waitress in the restaurant downstairs," she said. "And a blackjack and poker dealer."

"Must've met loads of interesting people." _Like the limping gentleman from before_, he added in his mind. Eames was determined to figure out who that man was and why he seemed somewhat familiar.

"Sometimes. Big spenders, vacationers, convention goers..."

"Famous people?"

She shrugged a little.

"Sounds like you have some stories there, love."

"Just... it's different, the way people react to finding out they've been conned."

Eames, who was taking the last sip of his drink, nearly choked.

"Are you all right?"

"Just fine," he hissed, his voice momentarily raw from his throat's near denial of the fiery alcohol. "What do you mean by _conned_?"

She looked out at the projections. "See the craps table? The woman in the green top, she's about to lose."

"How can you tell?"

"The house always wins. You may catch a lucky break every now and then, but it never lasts. She's up six rolls, and that's about two too many."

Eames watched as the woman giggled, warming the dice between her hands, talking with the man standing next to her. As the dice flew across the table, her face fell. "Impressive."

Penelope shrugged. "Just facts."

"So, you worked here long enough to be jaded?"

"I worked here long enough to know what happens," she said, glancing at him. Her look was despondent, clouded in sadness.

Eames hoped she didn't realize that _she_ was being conned herself yet. But, the fact that she had brought it up at all, the fact that they were within one of her memories, it made him think that she was starting to put the pieces together, that she was going to figure them out. "Another drink?"

She shook her head.

Eames regretted not ordering doubles.

* * *

Cobb sighed as he exited what must've been the fiftieth building he'd checked. The search was taking entirely too long. They should've found something by now. There were still so many levels to get through, and they were being timed so carefully.

As he exited onto the busy city street again, he had to pause for a moment.

Across the street, there was a couch on the sidewalk.

It had familiar graceful curvy lines. The plush, overstuffed cushions were in the slate gray he remembered from all those years ago, from the memory he'd had mere hours ago.

He dodged traffic as he crossed the road, watching as the projections merely walked around the oddity on the sidewalk. A well-worn, broken-in baseball glove sat on the arm. He reached out, picking it up, taking in the buttery-soft leather, as well as the scrapes and scuffs from years of use. Turning the glove over, he saw Arthur's initials drawn in indelible ink on the thumb as well as a row of numbers along the base.

He wasn't sure what the numbers could've meant. It seemed too long to be anything associated with baseball statistics. It wasn't in the same handwriting as the initials either, which made him wonder if he'd really found the clue or if _his_ subconscious had decided to drop the couch he'd been thinking about earlier into the middle of town just because it could.

He'd had enough issues with his subconscious interrupting his work. While he didn't want to think about his beloved Mal in those torturous last few years, his trying to keep her alive had turned her into a living nightmare instead of the dream woman he'd married. He still carried the guilt and the pain from what had happened to his wife, but those days were behind him, past him. All he could do was move forward. He'd had to let go of his regrets, to try to learn from them instead of be weighted down by them.

He felt like he'd been doing a pretty good job of that lately, even if his mother-in-law still wouldn't let him see his children like he _deserved_ to see them.

Hadn't she understood that all he'd done was fight his way to get back to them? Within the dreamworld and reality both, that was all he'd ever done. He was a father who would move heaven and earth for his children. Didn't that count for something?

He closed his eyes, squeezing the leather glove. His focus could still be shifted, could still be tipped at the drop of a hat. He wasn't completely back to normal, not yet. But he was doing better.

Snagging his cell phone out of his pocket, he dialed Arthur. He didn't have to wait long for the point man to pick up. After an abrupt greeting, Cobb responded: "I think I have it."

"What is it?"

"Your baseball glove." Cobb was concerned when there was a long pause. "Arthur?"

"Meet me back where we entered the dream."

* * *

Eames leaned back in his chair slightly. "So, you must've learned to be a good judge of character," he said. "What, with your jobs here..."

"Well, I learned which drunks to steer clear of... and the warning signs of someone about to become agitated or angry from losing."

"And, clearly, you learned enough to be able to spot the lady about to lose."

"I suppose so."

"So, tell me something." He waited until she looked at him. "What do your senses say about me?"

Her smile was soft and shy. "I'm not sure that's..."

"We're just killing time at the moment, right?" Plus, he needed to know if he had to step up his game or not.

She licked her lips, glancing off for a moment. "Yeah, I guess."

"I'm deathly curious, Miss Penelope."

She inhaled slowly before turning her chair to face him properly. "Well... your eyes change color."

He tilted his head slightly.

"Up close, they're a blue-green. From a distance, they can look dark, either brown or black."

While he didn't let the fear at her hitting so close to home grace his features, he knew that might be part of his skill set seeping through into the dream. He was, after all, one of the greatest forgers, often sought-after to play multiple roles in shared-dreaming.

"My guess is you have two distinctive personalities. Not... not like dissociative identity disorder or anything," she was quick to amend. "But, there's a lighter side which is the more thoughtful, intelligent side... When you're thinking, when you're processing, your eyes are the lighter color. And then, when they turn darker, that's when you're not so sure about what's going on. When you met Mr. Charles, for example... It's when your defenses go up, it's when you hide your secrets, when you don't want anyone to know about you."

"That's... an interesting observation," he managed.

"I..." She cast her eyes down at their table. "You did ask for my opinion."

"I didn't realize it would be so startlingly accurate. I should've."

She looked back at him, in his eyes, at their blue-green tint. "There's something else... I don't know what it is you're hiding... or what it is your _subconscious_ is hiding _from_ you," she said, "but, whatever it is, it's big." She watched as he blinked, as his eyes darkened, even with her sitting mere inches from him. "It's very big..."

* * *

Arthur was pacing when Cobb finally caught up to the point man and the architect. "What did you find?"

Cobb held the glove out to him. "Look familiar?"

Arthur hesitated before taking his old ball glove. "Where did you get this?"

"Off your sister's _couch_."

Ariadne watched the look that passed between the long-time partners. "What am I missing?"

"Penelope's couch, like my old car," Arthur said, offering the glove to her.

The architect accepted it, but she wasn't sure what it meant either. The vial had been pretty straightforward. An old baseball glove, not so much.

"There's just one thing," began Cobb. "I'm a little concerned about the fact that I might've dreamed this up."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I was remembering a dinner party at your sister's ages ago. You, me, Mal, Penelope. The night she was showing off that scrapbook, when she told us all about your star turn on the high school baseball team," Cobb provided.

Ariadne smiled, imagining Arthur as a teenage athlete.

"And then, randomly, there's her couch?" asked Cobb.

"I wasn't thinking about my car before it appeared, though," Arthur said. "It just appeared."

"And your car, that's where you found the first clue?" Off Arthur's nod, Cobb continued. "What about the numbers on the glove?"

"What numbers?" Arthur asked.

Ariadne took a closer look at the glove, turning it over and discovering a string of eight numbers printed in clear, concise handwriting on the back. "These numbers."

"I... I don't know," the point man said with a deepening frown. "I didn't write those. They weren't there, not in high school."

"Do we still have the vial?" Ariadne asked.

Arthur and Cobb both checked their pockets. When the point man reached into the pocket with his totem, he was able to produce both it and the vial. "Apparently."

"The numbers on the vial were supposed to correspond to D.C., but what if they have another meaning, a deeper meaning, whenever we find the Encapsulated thoughts?" Ariadne asked. "When we Encapsulated information about your watch, it was in a case of our design, one of our choosing, one with a lock we could easily open."

"The lock may be more sophisticated," Cobb said with a nod. "It may be a combination lock, with a long series of numbers."

"So, we take the clues and we keep going down." Arthur glanced at Ariadne. "Are you ready?"

She swallowed hard but nodded.

Arthur looked back at Cobb. "Listen, about the next levels..."

Cobb hesitated. While, yes, he had offered to change levels with Eames before they had started the process of the shared-dream, he wasn't sure that was such a great idea now that they were in the midst of it. After all, if they'd just decided that the locking mechanisms around the Encapsulated thoughts were particularly difficult to crack, it would require a thief with considerable experience. It would require someone like Eames.

While Cobb was the extractor of note, he broke into locks and safes of their own design, of their own choosing. They were easily accessible to him because he'd helped create them. He knew where they were hiding, he knew what the combinations were, what use of force, if any, was necessary to open them. He knew the dimensions of each and what they could hold.

Penelope's Encapsulation was, really, anyone's guess.

Arthur clenched his jaw tightly for a moment, and Ariadne could see the vein bulge for just a beat. "Maybe it's best to keep them the way they are."

Cobb offered the smallest hint of a smile, nodding. "Probably for the best."

Arthur sighed heavily. "Let's get this level done with." He pulled out his cell phone, calling his sister.

* * *

"My head is full of secrets," Eames admitted. "Things I've been sworn to protect, things I must protect."

"State secrets," Penelope provided. "I understand."

"Just, so we're clear, you aren't thinking I'm some mass murderer or something?"

She actually laughed, an airy, pleasant sound. "No."

He smiled at her in return. "Good. 'Cause I'm definitely not one of those."

Her laughter faded when she heard the ringing of a cell phone. "Wh..."

"I believe that's you," he said, pointing at her jacket pocket.

She reached within, pulling out a sleek, thin phone. She cleared her throat before answering. It was an odd thing, using that kind of technology in the dream world. It only worked because they were all connected to the same PASIV device, because they were all in the same room in the warehouse in reality. "Hello?"

"Penelope. Meet us at the docks."

It was time for another dream level. "We'll be right there," she said, closing the phone.

"Duty calls?"

"We're done on this level of the dream," she said.

"Did we learn everything we were supposed to? We aren't missing out on anything are we?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she said, getting to her feet.

Eames guided her back down the escalator to the main floor. As they headed toward the exit, the forger noticed the same silver-haired man with the limp exiting from one of the casino's restaurants. He intentionally slowed his gait down slightly, letting Penelope get just ahead of him, just out of arm's reach. His pace allowed for the gentleman to get closer.

It was one of the oldest cons in the history of crime but it was innocent enough to be shrugged off by the victim. The forger bumped into the older man, purely on "accident," and came away with a black leather wallet. Eames apologized profusely, dropping the wallet into his own jacket pocket undetected. The projection, whoever he was, angrily pushed past the seemingly bumbling patron.

Eames quickly caught up to Penelope, who had just reached the door. "Where are we headed, by the way?"

"How do you feel about boats?"

He shrugged as she moved forward, attempting to hail a taxi. While she worked on that, he took a look at the wallet, at the identification card of the silver-haired man, Lawrence Dillon, behind the thin layer of plastic. It wasn't a driver's license as he'd expected but a Department of Defense ID. He glanced again at Penelope, who seemed to be at a loss to garner the attention of one of dozens of yellow cabs. "What does the Pentagon want with you?" he muttered.

* * *

Arthur was still standing on the docks when the cab finally pulled up. It had taken longer than he'd expected for the forger to arrive with his sister. As they approached, he called out to them. "We're on a tight timetable. We really need to go."

"I hate to bother you, Mr. Charles, but I need a moment first," Eames replied.

"Mr. Eames, this isn't the best time."

"It may be the only time, Mr. Charles. Just two minutes."

Arthur glanced back at Cobb, who shrugged slightly. He sighed, crossing to where Eames and Penelope were heading toward the twenty-eight foot light cruiser. "Help Cobb set up, would you?" he asked his sister.

She nodded, scrambling ahead.

"What's going on, Eames?" Arthur asked quietly.

"What do you know about this man?" he asked, offering Arthur the ID from the pilfered wallet.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "He makes the Sunday morning talk shows all the time. Why? How'd you get this?"

"He was at the casino."

"Casino?"

"We walked into a coffee shop and wound up where we didn't exactly expect," Eames explained quickly. "Point being, Arthur... Why would a relatively prominent member of the military be in this dream, within her subconscious?"

"I..." Arthur hated to answer, but he had to truthfully. "I don't know."

"Just thought we should all be on the same page before we go any deeper."

Arthur nodded, looking at the forger with a new respect.

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

Penelope ducked when she heard the first gunshot, covering her ears and closing her eyes tightly.

Eames reached the dock first, scooping up the scientist and tackling her onto the deck.

Penelope gasped when she felt arms around her and opened her eyes, momentarily afraid of who had her. She struggled to breathe, having had the wind knocked out of her in the fall. It prevented her from getting up immediately. While she was relieved that it was Eames who'd saved her, she had to wonder: why was the _mark_ protecting _her_? Arthur should've manhandled him onto the boat, telling him to stay down. Why hadn't that happened?

Winded himself, Eames reluctantly pulled his eyes from hers as he pushed himself off of her and joined Arthur, who was digging through a black duffel bag.

She blinked, trying to understand the events unfolding before her, as they both took up defensive positions, shooting at the crowd of projections as Cobb, running low to the ground, made his way to them. There was something definitely _not right _about this.


	8. Chapter 8

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Yusuf discovers that the clues are all over Penelope's face, whether or not he needs to be worried about the projections. Ariadne confesses to Arthur she's not sure about her role as a dreamer. Penelope reveals to Eames that she's a good judge of character after all her years in the casino, picking out who was about to lose big and, upon a request from the forger, offers a spot-on assessment of him. Cobb finds Arthur's old baseball glove on Penelope's old couch in the middle of the street. Eames manages to snag the wallet from Lawrence Dillon, the man who made Penelope cringe. The team meets at the docks to descend into the third dream.

* * *

Cobb looked up as Penelope boarded the boat. "Hey. Where's Eames?"

"Said he needed to talk to Arthur for a minute."

Ariadne, who was sitting behind the wheel, turned when she felt Cobb's eyes land on her. She could tell his expression was grim and she didn't exactly like it.

"Double-check the serum vials, would you?" Cobb asked, turning to Penelope.

"Dom...?"

"Just making sure we're still on schedule," Cobb said before quickly heading back to the dock.

Penelope glanced at Ariadne, who shrugged. Both watched as Cobb joined the other men on dry land.

The scientist shook her head, sighing.

"What?" Ariadne asked.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say they knew each other before. How much do you know about our mark?"

Ariadne chose to answer truthfully. "Only what Arthur's told me." After all, her mark was different than Penelope's mark.

The scientist readied the IV lines, stretching each out toward the four waiting chairs. "There's something we don't know, then."

"It's not... I'm sure it's nothing like that," the architect said. "I thought... I thought you two were getting along, you and Eames..."

"We are. But that," she said, nodding toward the men ashore. "That's not right. Something's wrong here. Something they're not telling either of us."

* * *

"What's the hold up?" Cobb asked as he joined Eames and Arthur.

Arthur held out the ID. "A whole new level of intrigue."

"DOD?" Cobb asked, glancing back and forth between the point man and the forger.

"Penelope saw him, seized up," Eames explained. "She wouldn't answer any questions about him. I'm not sure if it was because she was too afraid of bringing more of her projections into the dream or if she honestly doesn't know anything about him. But, why else have a reaction if she doesn't know him?"

Cobb hesitated. "What are we thinking?"

Eames shrugged. "That this case maybe isn't as cut-and-dried as we thought?"

"Yusuf said the vial code meant D.C. The Pentagon is in D.C. Maybe this guy had something to do with her Encapsulation?" Arthur asked.

"Why would the government want to shut down one of their own research scientists?" Cobb asked. "She's still operating under federal research grants, isn't she?"

Arthur nodded.

"So, she gets a little too close to home with her research, the same blokes that are funding her decide to _un_fund her in a roundabout way... Our dear friend Dillon is behind it all?"

"Doesn't really matter what Dillon did or didn't do right now," Cobb said. "Right now, we've got to get her memories back."

Arthur glanced away from them, sighing heavily.

"What?" Cobb asked.

"I think we're definitely onto something," Arthur said. "Look," he said, nodding toward the road.

All of the cars had stopped and all of the projections within were now lined up at the edge of the road, staring at them.

Cobb swore under his breath. They'd been too distracted by their own conversation to realize that they were exposed, out in the open with, easily, a hundred projections aware of their presence.

* * *

Yusuf sang along with the radio as quietly as he could. While mid-century French was not what he chose to listen to, he didn't want to mistakenly trip the deeper levels with a miscue. He wasn't anywhere near ready to give the kick.

When he stopped at a red light, he looked out at the projections milling about the sidewalks. It was dark, late. The women were wearing revealing, provocative outfits, if they could be called that, striking devious _come hither_ poses, ones that Yusuf was desperately trying to ignore, but there wasn't much else in the way of scenery. The buildings surrounding the city street were all tall and gleaming in the street lamps, but they looked rather uniform.

They weren't at all like the variety of shapes, sizes, and colors of the women.

The chemist quietly prayed for a quick light change, to get him onto some other part of the maze. While he waited, however, one of the women sauntered up to his open window.

"Evenin'," she drawled.

"I'm sorry, miss, if you'll please back away from the limousine..."

"It's a nice ride," she said, running her fingers along the interior of the car door.

He chuckled, part nerves, part delight.

"You driving someone famous back there?" she asked, straining to look in past him.

"No one you'd know," he said, glancing in his rear view mirror at his sleeping charges. "Some stuffy diplomat." He frowned when he saw Penelope's face change before his eyes, from peaceful to concerned. When he looked back, the smile from the woman's face was gone, and the other ladies lingering on the sidewalk were starting to walk toward the car. "Dammit," he muttered. He started rolling up the window, but it was too late.

The woman stopped it, placing her hand heavily on the tempered glass.

He looked back at the traffic light, which was still annoyingly red. Slowly, he angled the limousine, to try to shift lanes, to get away from the growing crowd.

The other cars were packed too closely together. There was no way to manage it.

All of the sounds had died, so when he heard the screeching of tires making a turn several blocks back, he knew it had to be Penelope's militarized subconscious coming after them. Swallowing a string of curses, he floored the limousine, _making _a space for it to continue to travel.

As he raced through the empty intersection, he missed the van he'd driven on the previous mission with the team. Its bulk was different. He didn't feel so bad using it as a battering ram. The gorgeous limousine was sleeker, shorter, longer, and more difficult to handle. Using it to try to clear the way made him wince.

The acceleration wasn't the best, either. He'd give anything for an SUV, for a Hummer. For a tank. A tank would be good, he decided. He'd make a mental note of that, to remind them for the next job, if there _was_ another one.

He needed to get away from the hail of bullets that was following them first.

* * *

Ariadne gasped when she saw all of the projections.

Penelope, who'd finished preparing the PASIV device, looked at the architect. "Are you all right?"

Ariadne could only point.

The scientist winced. "Start the boat."

"What?"

"_Start _the boat," Penelope said before climbing onto the dock. "Arthur!"

All three men glanced back at her, listening as the boat engine roared to life.

Cobb clapped Eames on the shoulder, looking at the point man. "Go. I'll cover you."

"What about you?" Arthur asked.

"Ariadne's still going to have to pick up some speed."

"Your dream is the next one," Eames reminded.

"I'll make it," Cobb said. "Go now." As Arthur and Eames both took off running toward the boat, Cobb pulled a handgun from beneath his jacket and rolled behind a bench. While it didn't offer the most protection, it offered enough for him to open fire.

Penelope ducked when she heard the first gunshot, covering her ears and closing her eyes tightly.

Eames reached the dock first, scooping up the scientist and tackling her onto the deck.

Penelope gasped when she felt arms around her and opened her eyes, momentarily afraid of who had her. She struggled to breathe, having had the wind knocked out of her in the fall. It prevented her from getting up immediately. While she was relieved that it was Eames who'd saved her, she had to wonder: why was the _mark_ protecting _her_? Arthur should've manhandled him onto the boat, telling him to stay down. Why hadn't that happened?

Winded himself, Eames reluctantly pulled his eyes from hers as he pushed himself off of her and joined Arthur, who was digging through a black duffel bag.

She blinked, trying to understand the events unfolding before her, as they both took up defensive positions, shooting at the crowd of projections as Cobb, running low to the ground, made his way to them. There was something definitely _not right _about this.

"Start driving," Arthur called to Ariadne.

"But Cobb-"

"He'll make it. Just go!" Arthur instructed.

The architect swallowed hard before leading the boat away from the dock and into the open waters. It was supposed to look like the Potomac river, but it wasn't exactly.

Cobb ran faster, determined to make the jump. The last thing he wanted to do was spend any more time in Limbo. If he ever made it that deep again, it would be too soon. Focusing on his children, on getting back to Phillipa and James, he vaulted off the end of the dock, making it to the boat, barely.

He held on with white-knuckled fingers.

Arthur lowered his weapon and moved to help Cobb while Eames kept his gun trained at the projections now able only to watch them.

Ariadne breathed a sigh of relief as Arthur pulled the extractor onto the deck before she increased their speed to get out of there.

Cobb exhaled, taking a moment to catch his breath. "You'll be all right, Ariadne?"

The architect smiled. "There's a reason I didn't place any other boats in this dream."

Cobb nodded, a slight smile on his own face. "Excellent," he said as he sat down and picked up his IV line.

Arthur and Eames took their seats as well, preparing to link in, but Penelope didn't.

"Penelope?" Arthur asked.

"This isn't a dream for Mr. Eames, is it?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't know... what you're talking about," Cobb began.

"You three work well, like a cohesive _unit_. Like you've worked together before," she said, her pained expression aimed solely at her brother.

"You introduced Mr. Eames to Mr. Charles, remember?" Cobb asked, hopeful that they could at least convince her to descend out of this dream level. Time was of the essence.

"The background information you gave me didn't have any military history. Clearly," she said, chancing a glance at Eames, "you've served _somewhere _other than in the diplomatic corps."

Arthur stood and Penelope reflexively took a step back from him.

The boat wasn't large, however, and she didn't have very far she could go.

Cobb took a slow breath. "Penelope, please sit down."

"What are we doing here?" Penelope asked. "Why are we descending all these dream levels if it _isn't_ for Mr. Eames's Encapsulated thoughts?"

Eames caught movement out of the corner of his eye, watching as Ariadne quietly slipped her hand into her pocket. He didn't imagine that the architect needed to check her totem.

"Penelope, if you'll just sit down, we'll tell you everything," Cobb said, his eyes flickering to Ariadne, who nodded.

Arthur took another step toward his sister, sending her scooting an inch backwards.

Ariadne plunged the syringe into the woman's neck, injecting her with a pale amber liquid. As she removed the needle, the scientist's eyes rolled back in her head and her knees gave away.

Arthur prevented her from falling completely, and Eames helped the point man get her into a chair.

"Nice timing, Ariadne," Cobb mentioned casually.

"Yusuf had said in case of emergency... I think this qualified," Ariadne said, looking at the sleeping woman.

Arthur shot a look at Eames as he hooked up his sister's IV. "You were surprisingly _quiet_ during that exchange."

"What was I supposed to say?" Eames asked, leaning back into his seat and fixing his own IV. "She was right. She figured you out a lot quicker than you imagined she would."

The point man locked his jaw for a moment. "You're supposed to be the _liar_ here. You couldn't have come up with something to help instead of sitting there, stone silent?"

"Arthur," Cobb said warningly.

The point man merely sat back in his own chair, inserting the needles in his own arm.

"We're going to have a problem the moment we're in the next dream," Eames said. "She's got her doubts here. They'll be magnified."

Cobb took a split second to think, to plan. He sat up, glancing at the forger. "You remember the McMillan job?"

"What about it?" Eames asked, his brow creasing in confusion. Before Cobb had a chance to answer, the forger's eyes lit up in recognition. "You think...?"

"There's only one way to find out."

"Wait, what?" Arthur asked, perplexed.

Getting the nod from Cobb, Ariadne depressed the button in the center of the device. "Godspeed," she whispered.

* * *

Cobb intentionally dropped Penelope in a separate area, out in the open, while he, Arthur and Eames took cover behind desert shrub. He'd purposefully had to add the protection in order to confer with the others without being seen or interrupted.

"Where's Penelope?" Arthur asked, noting well who was missing.

Cobb shushed the point man.

Eames peeked out between the brambling brush, spotting her just ahead of them. "She's fine."

Arthur started to stand, but Cobb pulled him back down. "Not yet," the extractor said quietly.

"Why not?"

"The McMillan job," Cobb began.

The point man's curiosity piqued, he waited. "What is that? What were you two talking about?"

Cobb shrugged a little. "We haven't done _every_ case together."

"It was my first job with the infamous Mr. Cobb," Eames said with a smile at the memory.

"Our mark was figuring us out," explained Cobb. "So, we went down a level and attempted to repair our relationship."

"How exactly?"

"The method preferred by magicians, con artists and politicians everywhere," Eames provided. "Misdirection." He looked at Cobb. "Are you ready?"

Cobb pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, checking the clip to ensure that it had refilled in the intervening dream movement.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Arthur demanded in a harsh whisper.

Eames glanced at Penelope, who was looking around, calling out to each of them in turn. She hadn't found them, not yet, but it wouldn't take much to find them if they didn't act fast. "Just aim carefully, yeah?" Eames asked. The forger timed his departure from the cover when Penelope's back was to them.

"Cobb, wait," Arthur said, his hand on the extractor's arm.

"We're not shooting them. We're shooting _at_ them," he clarified. "Giving your sister the impression that we're still on the same side."

While he wasn't sure he bought it, or that his sister would, Arthur slowly released Cobb.

* * *

"Penelope!"

She turned, seeing Eames, breathless, rushing toward her. "Are you all right?

He rested his hands on his knees for a moment, panting. "Have you seen them?"

"Seen who? Arthur-"

"No," he said, cutting her off. "_Them_. The men with guns."

"Guns?" No sooner had the words escaped her lips, she heard the familiar popping sounds from a handgun, and she flinched.

Eames grabbed her hand and ran, heading for town, toward the center of the dream level. It was an oasis of a place in comparison to the unforgiving heat of the desert. While it was a bustling, thriving locale, it wasn't nearly as crowded as D.C. had been, or the Embassy party before it.

It had more of a medium-sized town feel to it, with park space that included a playground and a street market with vendors set up at carts and tables. The buildings weren't monochromatic skyscrapers but pueblo-style missions, all one or two stories high and colorful.

Eames slowed as they reached the populated area, careful to stay under the radar of the multiplying projections. When he was satisfied that the subconscious wasn't after them for the moment, he glanced at her, really looked at her for the first time since entering the third level of the dream. She wasn't in formal wear or a smartly tailored suit. She wore a copper-colored sundress, fitted at the bodice and loose to her knees, topped with a lightweight cotton sweater. She carried a clutch purse tucked under her arm.

In their run, her sweater had tumbled off her right shoulder slightly and, for a brief moment, he caught sight of the dress's thin strap and exposed skin before she covered it back again.

"Are you all right?" he asked as they casually strolled further and further into the city.

She nodded. "You?"

"I am now," he said, offering her a tight smile. His blue-green eyes went roving the projections again. "Where's Mr. Charles?"

"You haven't seen him?"

He shook his head. _Not since I left him behind, no_, he thought.

She released his hand, timidly glancing at him before she fumbled through her purse. She pulled her cell phone out, dialing her brother's number. "C'mon, Arthur," she murmured.

"Penelope. Where are you?"

Eames noted well that she eased at her brother's voice. He could hear Arthur through the phone, not clearly, but enough to know that he sounded flat and authoritative, like _typical_ Arthur.

"Uh..." She glanced at their surroundings, her dark eyes landing on the mission church. "Outside the chapel."

"Cobb and I are on clue duty. You and Eames'll be fine there. Go inside."

"They were shooting at us," she said quietly.

There was a brief pause before Arthur responded: "I took care of it."

"Arthur-"

"Keep Eames occupied. I'll call soon."

Penelope closed her eyes as she closed her phone.

"Well?"

Taking a slow breath, she dropped her phone back into her purse and looked up at Eames.

He could see the annoyance on her face. While the plan may have worked initially, he wasn't sure how long it would hold.

"C'mon," she murmured, offering him her hand.

He looked at her open palm for a moment before complying.

She guided him into the Spanish chapel reverently.

Eames wasn't exactly the religious type. He felt uncomfortable in the middle of all the crosses, holy water fonts, candles and pews. He knew he shouldn't, that it wasn't even a _real_ church, but the thought didn't ease his mind at all.

Penelope, in contrast, had no problems with entering the sanctuary. She wasn't Catholic and had never been, but she sat down on one of the back pews, as did Eames.

The forger fidgeted in his linen suit. He sat still for only a moment before standing and shrugging out of his jacket. He folded it loosely over his arm and sat back down again, resting quietly but not for long. He adjusted his jacket, folding it nicer. Then he unfolded it.

Penelope reached out, taking it from him. "God won't smite you for being in a church in a dream, Mr. Eames," she whispered.

"Clearly, you underestimate my relationship with God in reality, Miss Penelope," he returned, glancing at the exposed beams in the ceiling, wondering what it would take for one of them to dislodge. Or if lightning could strike him _through _the roof's terracotta tiles.

He wasn't a good man. He was a thief by trade. And he excelled at it, having apprenticed beneath a dozen great crooks, mastering deceptions. He'd learned everything from art forgery to planning major heists to the more small-time crime including pickpocketing and sleight of hand tricks.

And the lies.

If he had anything, it was a silver tongue.

He'd even lied to her on the sidewalk, just outside the church.

As he continued through his mental list of sins, he looked down when he felt a gentle weight atop his hand on his thigh.

Her fingers rested softly on his.

His eyes slowly followed her arm back to her face.

The annoyance was gone, replaced by sadness, which wasn't, in Eames' mind, an improvement in the slightest.

"I'm still not sure what's going on," she began slowly. "But, whatever _it_ is, the only way out is down. And if we're supposed to just sit tight..." She drew in a breath. "Then, that's what we're going to do."

Eames nodded. "It's not as bad as you think."

She shook her head. "I'm thinking a lot of thoughts, Mr. Eames, and all of them are pretty bad. What I can't figure out is why we're here. Why you, why me, why Arthur and Dom..."

"It'll all become clear," he said. "Eventually."

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

"So..." Penelope prompted.

"So," he began haltingly, "what do you know?"

"What do I know? Or what do I _think_ I know?"

"Take your pick."

"You aren't a diplomat."

"Is that a certainty or a theory?"

"Well, you can easily confirm or deny..." She had the slightest hint of a smile on her lips, but only for a fleeting second.

It was in that brief moment he could see, very clearly, the difference between her and her brother. When faced with adversity, Arthur lost all levity, all air around him. Penelope, on the other hand, had a touch of humor about her. It had the potential to diffuse the situation. "Touché, my dear."


	9. Chapter 9

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: There's trouble at the docks when the projections are onto the shared-dreaming team. Penelope realizes something's wrong when Eames protects her instead of the team protecting Eames. A level above, Yusuf is having trouble with projections, too. As the dreamers descend a level amid the chaos, Eames and Cobb come up with a plan to ensure that Penelope is still on their side. Arthur isn't pleased that Cobb winds up firing at the scientist and forger, but the plan works, for the moment.

* * *

He was tearing through the English countryside when he realized that he was no longer being chased. The adrenaline was still pumping through his dream-rattled brain though he was starting to calm down since he was no longer being _shot_ at. While he didn't mind the rush of the excitement-that part he kind of liked, actually-he didn't care for the idea of spending the rest of his "days" in Limbo.

He pulled the limousine off to the side of the road for a moment. Turning in his seat, he looked at his passengers fully.

Penelope was calm again.

"If I wasn't afraid of pulling out your IV," he said, "I'd bring you up here with me. It'd be more than helpful to know when that's coming..."

He looked at his watch. He still had more time than he wanted to spend on the look-out for would-be killers.

When he got done with this job, he was going to think long and hard before telling Cobb he'd go along with another one of these schemes. He actually missed his little corner of Mombasa, surrounded by his chemicals, his compounds, and his cat. The money wasn't anywhere near as good but the safety couldn't be matched.

Running a hand through his hair, he realized there was a very big difference between this mission and the previous one. For starters, he wasn't making double the money. He was only making one share. And Arthur's pockets weren't anywhere as deep as Saito's.

A Saito mission, he wouldn't mind taking part in again.

He wondered how to go about seeing if the Japanese businessman needed another dream-walking job.

Dreaming in first class had been much nicer than dreaming in a dingy warehouse.

Exhaling, he looked forward again, easing the limousine back onto the road. He still had a while to go before the kick, and more than a few miles to cover to get there.

* * *

Arthur was brooding.

Cobb could tell the point man was still annoyed at the ploy to stop Penelope from asking questions. While he was content to let the younger man wander in silence for the first hour of the search, it troubled him when it continued into the second.

Cobb knew just how much time they had to spend on that level. More than that, he knew that Arthur could be more stubborn than anyone he'd ever met. And spending all of those hours in silence wasn't something Cobb was sure he could handle.

"She wasn't hurt."

Arthur scoffed.

"The bullets didn't even hit the ground anywhere close to her."

"Doesn't negate the fact that you _shot_ at my _sister_."

"Arthur-"

"You couldn't even shoot at your own wife's projection when she killed me in Saito's dream, but you have no problems firing your weapon at my _living_ sister where, if you'd hit her, she'd have gone to Limbo. The entire mission would've ended in failure with one wild shot."

"I'm a good shot."

"But not a perfect one," Arthur said harshly.

"It wasn't the most ideal of situations, no," Cobb conceded, "but it needed to be done. We needed a way to keep her occupied while we looked for more clues to unlocking her subconscious. It was fast and it was dirty, I'll admit."

"It was a cheap shot, a low blow. No doubt all through up by Eames when you performed it the first time." Arthur's voice dripped with contempt.

"It was a collaborative effort. Besides, you were okay with him earlier."

"That was before."

"We're close to finishing this one," Cobb reminded.

"I know."

"It doesn't really matter if you don't like him... You really need to trust him."

"With brilliant ideas like that one? Not sure I can do _either_."

Cobb sighed.

"This is taking too long. Split up," Arthur said. "I'll head north and east."

Cobb watched as Arthur continued on by himself. The extractor could only shake his head.

* * *

They sat through a prayer service, complete with singing and communion, before Penelope finally decided it might be best for them to leave the back pew of the chapel. There was only so much of friendly, religious projections even she could take. She offered Eames his jacket back.

The forger's face lit up at the prospect of getting out of that nightmare.

It even brought a faint smile to her lips.

"Where are we heading?" he asked, standing and slipping his jacket on, straightening the cuffs on his shirt.

"Well... Somewhere we won't alert any attention."

"I'm sure we can find something to do," he said, guiding her out of the church and into the cool night air. It was quite a difference from the early afternoon sun they'd been under when they first appeared in that dream level.

She pulled her sweater around her a little tighter, walking with him quietly.

He'd hoped she'd start talking first, that she'd pick something to keep them occupied. When she didn't, he looked at her, seeing the same thoughtful, _hurt_ expression he'd seen on Arthur's face before. While it didn't bother him on the point man's face, he didn't care for it darkening her features. "Do you want to grab a bite?" he asked as they passed a restaurant.

She looked over at him. "Are you actually hungry?"

He shrugged. "Not really." If it had been real life, he would've been starved. As they were coasting in the dreamworld, the _notion _that they needed to eat kept rattling around his brain but the _need_ was missing. He glanced around, at other options. "Looks like there's a club, we could go dancing again."

She shook her head.

He sighed softly. "Penelope..."

She stopped, looking at him.

"This... This isn't a bad thing, what we're doing here."

"And what is that, exactly? Because I really don't know."

Eames chose his next words carefully as he noticed the crowds milling about. He wasn't about to tell her anything in front of the projections. "Let's... find some place to chat, then."

She nodded slowly, following him as he led her to the playground at the park. She sat on one of the empty, abandoned swings, holding loosely onto the chains.

Eames leaned against the metal supports, watching her as she drifted slightly back and forth.

"So..." Penelope prompted.

"So," he began haltingly, "what do you know?"

"What do I know? Or what do I _think_ I know?"

"Take your pick."

"You aren't a diplomat."

"Is that a certainty or a theory?"

"Well, you can easily confirm or deny..." She had the slightest hint of a smile on her lips, but only for a fleeting second.

It was in that brief moment he could see, very clearly, the difference between her and her brother. When faced with adversity, Arthur lost all levity, all air around him. Penelope, on the other hand, had a touch of humor about her. It had the potential to diffuse the situation. "Touché, my dear."

"So, why won't you just tell me, get it over with, get it out in the open?"

Because, he was afraid that the projections would turn on them, all of them, the moment the truth left his lips. "Why do you think we're here?"

"Something about me."

"What makes you think that?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Because you've worked with them before, with Arthur and Dom..."

"Doesn't mean I'm working with them now."

"Doesn't mean you aren't," she challenged. "But, it does mean you aren't who you've said you were, who you told me you were... who _they_ told me you were. Smart money is on your having worked with them, with all of them, and that you're working with them now."

"That's what you'd bet on, is it?" he asked.

"It is. And, given my history, Mr. Eames, I don't make a bet I can't win."

"It's an interesting thought. That's what you do, isn't it? Hypothesize... and then experiment. You try to prove them right."

"That is the basic scientific formula, sure."

He leaned toward her slightly. "You're in a dream. None of this is real. Scary thought, but true." He hated it, telling her that, trying to intentionally deceive her, but he had to. They still had another two levels of dreaming to go through, they still had so much time before the kick. If he could keep her mind occupied, if he could have her running in circles, the projections would be less likely to be chasing after any of the dreamers.

It wasn't his most ideal situation, but it was a necessary evil.

She stopped swinging, sitting perfectly still, trying to process it all. She shook her head. "No. You... you're real. You were there, in the warehouse, when we started descending..."

"You were told who I was before you started to dream, right?" Off her slow nod, he continued. "Maybe you just _projected_ me into this world. That's a possibility, isn't it?"

"You... you knew Arthur, you knew Dom..."

"Do I?"

"Yes. You did. You do," she said, getting to her feet.

"Prove your theory."

She stilled, silent, trying to think of ways she could test it. Killing him would send him into Limbo, and she didn't wish that particular outcome on anyone. "You have to be real."

"How?"

"You were hooked up to the PASIV device in the warehouse."

"Was I?"

She stopped, trying to think back. Of course, the harder she tried to remember, the harder it became _to_ remember.

Eames took advantage of the moment she had turned from him, her dark eyes darting across the grounds, struggling to put the pieces together, to recall what she thought she knew. He changed his posture, standing straighter. He made his eyes dark, even darkened his hair. He changed his body type, his facial features. He mimicked someone she was familiar with, someone she trusted.

When she turned back around, she gasped, seeing her brother standing before her. "Arthur...? Wh... No, wait, there was..."

"Remember your job, Penelope. Remember what you're supposed to be doing," he told her.

She could scarcely find her voice as she spoke again: "This isn't right..."

Eames as Arthur gave a half-shrug, responding in his best authoritative and flat voice: "House always wins, Penelope. You know that."

* * *

Ariadne wasn't sure she liked the waterspouts on the horizon. She knew she hadn't put them there. Someone else had.

They hadn't been in the other dream too long. She was still close enough to the shoreline that she could see her fake District of Columbia in the distance. She wasn't anywhere near close to the kick. She hadn't heard the musical cue.

But the twin waterspouts looked foreboding and dangerous.

She glanced back at her charges, at Arthur. When he was asleep was about the only time he seemed at all relaxed. There weren't lines in his face, there wasn't concern in his expression. It was nice to see him like that. It made her think that there would be other times, possibly, when they weren't doing a job, where he might look like that.

Cobb's face was impassive, calm. She had to admit that this job was much different from the previous one. She wasn't looking over her shoulder for Mal to come creeping out of the shadows, or for a random freight train to come bursting through the scene. Cobb had come a long way in a short amount of time. He'd finally let go.

The forger had fallen asleep with his head tipped back but now that she'd looked at him again, he was facing Penelope. Even his hand was stretched toward her. He should've been under such deep sedation that he wouldn't have moved. Certainly Cobb, Arthur and Penelope hadn't.

With the boat still progressing toward the kick point, Ariadne left the controls for a brief moment, checking on the IV line between the PASIV device and Eames. If there was a kink in the line, if he'd managed to pull one of the twin needles from his vein, it might account for the movement.

The line was clear and straight, however, from the case to his arm. Both needles were squarely beneath his skin.

"You aren't causing these, are you?" she asked, not that he could answer. She looked at the anomalies, how the spinning vortices seemed to be picking up speed and intensity, growing larger, more sinister.

Sighing, she crossed back to the boat's controls, ensuring that they were still on course. Biting her lower lip, she checked her watch. "C'mon, Yusuf. Anytime you want to start the music, I'm ready." She was ready for the kick, she was ready for the dream to be over, for the mission to be accomplished.

She was ready for dry land. For _real _land.

* * *

He slowed to a stop when he saw the two figures in the darkened park. He'd been searching the outskirts of the town, coming up with nothing in the dimming twilight. As night descended, he'd moved closer to the bright street lights. While the park was in the middle of town, it was deserted except for two figures at the swings, one swinging back and forth and one standing.

Given the lack of other projections, he could only assume that it was Penelope and Eames.

But as she stood, the man looked an awful lot like Arthur instead.

Cobb narrowed his eyes. Had Arthur changed the play without telling him? Had he missed the memo?

He slowly approached them. Maybe the point man had found the clue and they could descend another dream level. It wouldn't be long before the kick music would start and they would need to hustle. He hurriedly tried to close the distance, but stopped when he saw the transformation.

When he saw Arthur turn into Eames.

It had been the forger the entire time. While he guessed it was possible for Eames to mimic Arthur, he wouldn't have imagined the forger would be so bold to try, not to the point man's own sister.

He hung back, watching as Eames tried to reach out to her, that she backed away from him, panicked. She held her hand up to him, pointing at him, sending him retreating a step. Cobb hadn't seen the two of them together for more than just moments in passing in the dream. He'd seen them as they descended dream levels, as she'd accused Eames of being something he wasn't.

He remembered that the forger had been silent. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Eames without a quip of some kind before.

But, he remembered, too, how quiet and withdrawn Eames had been during mission prep. Granted, the man was spending an awful lot of time in a room by himself. Maybe it had bled into the actual dream, into the mission, into the work.

Cobb winced, thinking about how Arthur would take that. There were only two levels left, only two layers. The next one was supposed to be Arthur's, but if he didn't trust the forger... if the forger wasn't up to the task... The whole idea made his head hurt.

He wished it hadn't been Penelope who'd been Encapsulated. He wished it had been someone, anyone else, someone not related to any of them. Just a random mark. Someone who may have been important to people, but not to any of the core team. Because this kind of a mission was just asking for trouble. If anyone knew how dangerous it was to perform risky operations in a dream world, it was him.

He'd lost his wife because of it.

He'd hate to see Arthur lose his sister.

* * *

When she'd turned around and seen him again, her eyes grew large. "No..."

"Penelope..."

"You weren't there. You weren't _anywhere_, not for two seconds..."

Eames reached out for her, his hand almost finding hers. He didn't get a chance to do much more than brush his fingers against hers as she backed away from him. "Don't."

"Don't? Don't _what_, Mr. Eames? Don't panic? Don't freak out? Don't worry?" she asked. "You weren't here two seconds ago... I turned around, and my brother was here." She looked for him but Arthur wasn't anywhere close. "Where'd he go?"

"I dunno," he said honestly. After all, he hadn't seen the point man since they'd first entered the dream level.

"Your eyes change color."

"You said that already..."

"What else can you change?"

The fear of being caught, of being found out was a new sensation. He'd always been so good at his job that he had never been discovered before. As such, the look on his face was shock.

"You're a forger, aren't you?" she asked quietly. "It makes sense... Ariadne, the architect. Yusuf, the chemist... Arthur, the point man. Dom, the extractor... And you, keeping me busy. What are they after? What does Dom want?"

"It's not like that," Eames said, shaking his head.

"It's not like what? You aren't invading my dreams? Without my permission?"

"This is Cobb's dream. If Cobb wanted something from you, don't you think he'd have Arthur take this dream? As you've already pointed out, Cobb is the extractor."

"How do I know whose dream this is?" she asked. "You put me under_ before_ the device did."

"Technically, Ariadne did..." Seeing her close her eyes tightly, annoyed, he quickly continued, offering her a truth: "It's Cobb's dream."

"I'm supposed to take your word?" she asked, opening her eyes again. Off his halfhearted shrug, she continued. "You were just my brother. You just lied to me. How am I supposed to trust you?"

"We're trying to help you," he reminded.

"What do I need help with?" she asked incredulously.

Eames sighed, realizing he wasn't getting anywhere, and that he wouldn't, not with the answer he had to give her. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"This not telling me business isn't working any better for you," she said darkly.

He looked at her, considering his options. Resignedly, he spoke: "Someone took something from you."

Her expression turned quizzical. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone took something from you. We're here to help you get it back."

"No one Extracted anything from me," she said, shaking her head.

"No," he began. "Someone did something worse."

She paused, realizing the weight of his words, of the unspoken accusations. "The mission I was told about... it was an Encapsulation."

He nodded.

"You're saying..." She drifted off.

"I'm not saying anything," he told her. He watched as her face drained of color, as she leaned against the center post of the swing set. "You're drawing your own conclusions... by the look of them, the right ones." He took a cautious step forward, glad that she wasn't pushing him away this time. "We're close to finding it. Just let us find it, let us unlock it."

She looked up at him, realizing how close he'd gotten, that he was now standing in front of her. "Mr. Eames..."

"Your brother loves you dearly. He gathered us all together to help you. Wouldn't take no for an answer from any of us. We came down here, we're facing the dangers of Limbo for you, because of him. You trust him, don't you?" Off her shaking nod, he said: "Then trust us. Trust me."

* * *

He put the limousine into park before poking through the duffel bag in the passenger seat. He pulled the MP3 player from it, unwinding the headphone cord as he climbed out of the car. The hardest part of the job was the timing.

It had to be perfect.

The only good thing about being the first level dreamer was that the kick wasn't as vital to him as it was to the others. The rest of the team had to meet his time table, not the other way around. No matter what was happening on the other levels, he would be fine. The kick wasn't necessary for him to wake up. All he had to wait on was the PASIV device's timer in the warehouse.

Of course, if Arthur didn't make it out, or if they weren't able to complete the mission, he wouldn't get paid.

But, worst case scenario, he'd at least be alive.

He wasn't sure he could say that for his sleeping passengers.

"Time to start thinking about waking up," he said, placing the headphones around Ariadne's ears. Even lifting her head off of Arthur's chest didn't stir her. He smiled a little at that. After all, it was the sign of a job well done on his part.

His chemicals, his compounds in action.

He checked and double checked his watch, sighing when he still had a few more minutes to kill. Thankfully, this job was so very different from the other. He wasn't under duress, under a hail of gunfire. He was able to take his time, to get the timing as close to perfect as he could.

While he hadn't cared that Arthur's timetable was rushed, only partially because he knew the point man would be able to handle it, Ariadne wasn't as advanced as Arthur. Ariadne wouldn't be able to deal with the problems that could arise from pushing the kick. He genuinely liked the architect. He didn't want to make her dream level uncomfortable, not if he could help it.

Idly, as he waited, he wondered what was going on below. He knew Ariadne should be adrift in the deep blue sea by now, that the desert would be nearly deserted, and that the mountainous jungle was next. Triple checking his watch, he smiled as the seconds counted down. "No regrets on this level," he muttered, pressing play.

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

Eames brushed a chaste kiss against Penelope's hair lightly. "Pretend like I just said something funny," he whispered.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him curiously.

"Laugh."

She offered a cautious one, one that wasn't convincing in the slightest.

He winced a little, glancing at the display above the elevator. It was stuck on the third floor. While the thought had entered his mind first-a certain option he was about to put into play-he felt like it was a cheap shot, a desperate move. Given the intense gazes from the projections surrounding them, however, he wasn't about to take a chance at failure. He spun her to face him, pulling her close.

"Wh-?"

He cut her off, pressing his lips to hers.


	10. Chapter 10

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Arthur argues with Cobb over the part of the improvised plan where the extractor shot at his sister. Penelope starts asking Eames questions which he shouldn't answer, and he tries another ploy to keep from revealing too much, wherein the forger becomes the point man. The illusion doesn't last long, and the trick doesn't really work. He's forced to tell her that she's the victim of an Encapsulation, and that she needs to trust them. Ariadne sees waterspouts on the horizon which trouble her. Yusuf gets ready for the kick.

* * *

Arthur had checked all open rooms in the hotel. Thankfully there weren't too many. He'd perused the lobby and the restaurant, the bar and the exercise room coming up empty. Only a few suites on the upper floors weren't occupied. His last stop had been the penthouse.

It reminded him of somewhere, though he couldn't put his finger on the place at first.

He searched through the living area, the bathroom and the kitchenette. He scoped out the smaller bedroom before finding his way to the master suite.

It was decorated a little differently. The Spanish influences were gone, replaced by something decidedly more French.

"Cobb," he muttered. He pulled his gun, searching the room more carefully.

The very last thing he wanted to deal with on this mission was the former Mrs. Cobb putting a bullet in his knee.

He remembered his military training, working his way through the room methodically. His back was always covered, and he always had an idea of where he was going to move should he find a threat.

It was the best way to stay alive, having a solid plan.

The jacuzzi bathroom was empty, however, as was the walk-in closet. There was no one hiding behind the curtains or under the bed. Aggravated, he opened every drawer he came across. As was typical in American hotels, he found a Bible, a television listing, and various information about the hotel and surrounding areas.

Beneath the telephone, however, he found a small safe asking for a four digit code.

He tried the first four digits off the chemical bottle but received an error. He tried the first four digits off his baseball glove but came up empty handed there as well. Taking a slow breath, he tried the four digits that corresponded to his sister's birthday, but again nothing.

Frustrated, he sat on the ground in front of it, staring at the mocking red letters asking for the code to be entered.

He tried his sister's birth year. He tried his birthday and year. He tried the digits off Lawrence Dillon's Defense Department ID. He tried the last four digits of his cell phone number, of his sister's cell phone number.

Everything he entered, it didn't matter. It always came up the same error message.

When he was about to take the whole _safe_ with him, he took a moment, closing his eyes. Maybe the safe was the clue. Maybe it correlated to a date when Penelope was safe.

Narrowing his eyes at the keypad, he punched in a date in April, when Penelope was fourteen.

The red lights beside the keypad turned green and the door swung open slightly. He pulled it the rest of the way opened, swallowing hard when he saw the doll resting in the darkened cubby.

Embroidered on the bottom of the dress was a series of eight digits.

* * *

As soon as he'd hit play, the storm clouds gathered.

"Oh, c'mon," he muttered as he climbed out of the back of the limousine. The rain began to pelt down lightly at first, growing quickly into a steady downpour.

It wasn't the damned free champagne that time. Thankfully no one was awake to make that crack again. After all, there hadn't been any champagne at all, not before the mission. He imagined that Eames and Penelope might've gotten a nip or two at the party, but that shouldn't have affected the weather.

He slid behind the wheel again, looking at his soggy suit in disgust. "All right. Here we go," he said to no one in particular as he started the car again. He backed the long vehicle slowly toward the dock.

As he did so, he noticed another gathering of projections.

He sighed, closing his eyes. He'd really hoped to avoid the whole falling business this time. After all, he didn't actually _need_ the kick. All he needed to do was wait for the PASIV device in real life to run out of time. As such, he'd decided he'd just put the car in neutral and wish the rest of them a bon voyage into the icy cold waters below.

Now that he was surrounded, he was glad that the duffel in his passenger seat still had his oxygen tank and respirator. He just wasn't looking forward to the dip.

He glanced back at Penelope, who looked more scared than she had before, more agitated. "_Please_ calm down," he said, though he had no hope of her being able to accomplish that task, not before he had to throw the limousine off the dock.

* * *

She couldn't figure it out. She couldn't wrap her brain around it. There was nothing taken from her. All of her memories were in tact. How could Arthur say her mind was damaged somehow? How could he tell his entire crew that? How had she walked, so unknowingly, into a mission that was designed for her and not someone else? She paced, unable to look at him.

He could tell that he was losing her. Because of that, he could only imagine the kinds of fun the rest of the team was having with projections, with a militarized subconscious. He was sure he'd never hear the end of it from Arthur, particularly if the mission ended in failure. "Penelope?" When she didn't respond, he tried something a little different. "Penny."

She turned at the diminutive.

"Just breathe," he told her. "I need you to take a deep breath and I need you to calm down."

She inhaled shallowly.

While it wasn't quite what he'd hoped for, it was a start. It also gave him the confidence to move closer to her. "Your subconscious is now _highly_ aware of our presence, because you know the truth. It isn't exactly making our job easier."

"There should be_ no_ job!"

"That's not calm," he reminded gently. He hesitated only briefly before touching her, easing a comforting hand onto her shoulder. He'd seen the effect his touch had on her before, in the earlier levels of the dream, even on her projection in Arthur's dream.

It still worked.

"There shouldn't be a job, no, but there is one," he told her quietly. "The only way out is down. We have to keep moving, we have to figure it out, and we don't have a lot of time left to accomplish it."

"Mr. Eames, I really..." She huffed. "I really think you're barking up the wrong tree."

"If that's the case, fantastic. We've all had a horribly bad dream and everything will be as it was before when we wake. If that isn't the case, if there's something else going on, something far more sinister... you'll thank us in the morning."

"There is nothing," she insisted.

"On the last level, the man at the casino..."

She shook her head. "He wasn't-"

"Oh, he was someone, love. Someone with the Pentagon. How do you know him?"

"I..." Her mouth slammed shut. "I don't," she said, shrugging off his hand.

"I think you do."

"I _don't_," she insisted.

"He wasn't interested in your research? He didn't come round your lab, he didn't make time to see you at a conference?"

She felt under attack by his questions. "Stop it," she whispered.

"Lawrence Dillon. That's his name. Why would he be in your dreams, why would you have a projection of him if you didn't know him?"

She tried desperately to backtrack, tripping over her tongue in the process. "Th-the subconscious is... it's a peculiar thing, something no one fully understands."

He advanced on her, backing her into the support post of the swing set. His voice softened, however, when he spoke: "It's something _you_ understood. It's something you knew. It's something you've forgotten, something that's been locked away."

She swallowed hard, looking up at him. "I didn't. There's no way."

"Trust me, there's a way."

"Trust you? I... I don't even _know_ you."

"What do you have to lose? You're in a dream. You're asleep at this very moment. There's nothing else to do, no pressing engagements. It's Friday night. You might be missing out on drinks at some nightclub, but you don't strike me as that type."

She felt a mess of emotions knotting in her stomach when he spoke, when his blue-green eyes flickered, looking down at the rest of her body before meeting her gaze again. Anxiousness and fear mixed with attraction and desire, topped off with a healthy dose of confusion. What was he doing to her? What was she _allowing_ him to do to her?

"Eames!"

The moment broken, both turned to see Cobb motioning to them to join him.

Penelope hesitated but Eames slipped his arm around her, pulling her close and guiding her through the park and toward sidewalk where the extractor waited.

"We've got to go," Cobb explained. "Arthur's waiting for us at the hotel." He looked between the forger and the scientist, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"We should get off the street," Eames said simply.

Cobb glanced over, as the projections all seemed more interested in the there of them than anything else going on in an otherwise bustling night out. "You told her?"

"What was I supposed to do? She's smarter than that." Eames didn't particularly care for a replay of the conversation he'd had with Arthur on the boat, not now, not ever. "No mission this long goes according to plan. We can either get _off_ the sidewalk, get to the hotel, and get off this level, or we can end this dream walking right here. It's entirely up to you."

"Move," Cobb ordered, nodding to the hotel.

Eames rushed forward, keeping Penelope close to his side. He held her protectively away from the projections. It was a little more difficult to protect her once they entered the hotel. There were several smiling, happy-looking people that grew very dour the moment they walked through the large glass front doors.

"Penthouse," Cobb whispered.

"We're taking the elevator," Eames commented.

"I'll take the stairs," the extractor returned.

Eames brushed a chaste kiss against Penelope's hair lightly. "Pretend like I just said something funny," he whispered.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him curiously.

"Laugh."

She offered a cautious one, one that wasn't convincing in the slightest.

He winced a little, glancing at the display above the elevator. It was stuck on the third floor. While the thought had entered his mind first-a certain option he was about to put into play-he felt like it was a cheap shot, a desperate move. Given the intense gazes from the projections surrounding them, however, he wasn't about to take a chance at failure. He spun her to face him, pulling her close.

"Wh-?"

He cut her off, pressing his lips to hers.

She struggled against him at first but he was insistent, going so far as to snake an arm around her back, slipping a hand beneath her sweater. She stiffened at the unwelcome contact but he held her body flush against his.

He hoped that it was just stubbornness that kept her from playing along at first. While he wasn't necessarily proud of his actions, he continued to caress, to kiss, to seduce her.

The jumbled feelings she'd had for him earlier returned and intensified. She didn't appreciate being manhandled but she'd seen another side of him, the flirtatious, softer side. They'd almost kissed two dream levels ago and she'd actually felt disappointment, that her brother had shown up so suddenly, ending what might've been. There was a warmth to him that she couldn't deny, one that was enticing, one she wanted.

He knew it was working when she started kissing him back, when her hands gripped his jacket. For a brief second, he let his guard down. For one brief second, he allowed it to be real. When he heard the elevator ding behind her, however, he opened his eyes and cupped her face in his free hand before looking past her. Sure enough, the display read the second floor and descending. He reluctantly ended the kiss when the doors opened.

She looked up at him dazedly, breathless.

"C'mon," he murmured, guiding her onto the elevator. A few other projections started to get on, but he blocked them. "Sorry. _Ocupado,_" he said. He looked back at her, battling his own hungry emotions. As soon as the elevator doors closed, however, as soon as they were making their ascent alone, he closed his eyes tightly.

She started to ask something but stopped. She'd seen his eyes, in those brief seconds before he'd closed them, and she realized they were dark again. She felt her cheeks catch fire, burning red hot. It had all been an act. That was all it had been since they had fallen asleep, since _before_ they'd hooked up to the PASIV device in the warehouse.

How could she be so stupid?

* * *

Cobb was halfway to the penthouse suite when someone else entered the stairwell. A suited someone, an armed someone. He tried to slow his gait, to look like a casual projection, nothing more but it didn't work.

The projection aimed the gun square at him.

"There's no need for that," Cobb said, shaking his head.

"You're not supposed to be here."

"Funny, I was going to say the same about you." The extractor rolled out of the way, pulling his weapon as he ducked for cover. It wasn't much of a fire fight, but he knew the loss of one of the militarized subconscious projections wouldn't go unnoticed, particularly as it thudded on the stairs.

After leaping over the fallen projection, he took the stairs two and three at a time, desperate to reach the penthouse. By the time Arthur was letting him into the suite, he'd shot another half dozen projections along the way.

"You look like hell," Arthur commented.

"We don't have much time. We're going to need to rush the lower levels."

"What are you talking about?"

"Penelope knows."

"She knows what?" Arthur asked.

"About what we're doing, about what's going on."

Arthur's anger came to a quick, steady boil. "Eames."

"Doesn't matter. What matters is getting out of here, fast, and in-tact. All of us."

"Where are they?"

"They're not... they're not here yet?"

Arthur didn't waste any time grabbing his gun and heading out into the hallway.

"Elevator. Maybe it's just a slow ride," Cobb said, trying to catch the point man's arm.

Arthur evaded the extractor's grip. "Maybe I can speed things up." He'd almost reached the elevator when the doors opened.

* * *

"Whatever you're thinking... please don't."

She looked up at him, shaking her head. "This whole time, it's been nothing but lies and deceptions and..."

"The more you think about it, the more you _dwell_ on it, the worse off we're all going to be. Keeping you distracted, that's the only thing keeping your projections from ganging up on us, all of us, on getting rid of the dreamer. We aren't ready for the kick yet. If they kill us, we're done for. Stuck in Limbo for who knows how long. I won't let that happen. So, if that means..." He hated the hurt look on her face. "If that means upsetting you in the process, then so be it."

She looked away from him, at the steel walls surrounding them instead. She felt trapped, stuck in a dream she didn't want to have, like a prisoner in a cell.

Eames slowly inched closer to her. "You needed a distraction. You still do."

"I don't need anything from you," she said quietly, spitefully.

When the doors opened at the penthouse level, she immediately stepped out, heading down the hall. Eames wasn't far behind.

"There you are," Arthur said, lowering his weapon.

"How _could_ you?" she demanded.

"Penelope..."

"No! How could you _do_ this to me, Arthur?"

Cobb looked questioningly at Eames, who was rubbing at the back of his neck guiltily.

"Whatever he told you," Arthur began, pointing at the forger.

"This doesn't concern him," Penelope said. "Or Dom. This is between you and me, Arthur. How could you bring me in here? How could _you_ lie to me like this?"

"We don't have time for this," Cobb interrupted. "We've got to keep going."

Eames watched as Penelope was about to turn her explosive reaction to the extractor. "You're going to need help setting the charges," the forger said quickly. "With the subconscious on alert, you can't watch us _and_ prepare for the kick, not without something happening."

Cobb realized that the Brit had a point, but he didn't want to admit it.

"Give Penelope a moment to talk to Arthur. Don't worry, we'll speed through the other levels," Eames said.

Cobb sighed. "All right, fine."

Eames nodded at Arthur, who led Penelope back into the suite. For a brief moment, he caught her eye.

Unlike Arthur, who could hide his emotions, Penelope's were easy to read. She was still frustrated but she was, however briefly, thankful.

* * *

Relief washed over Ariadne like a wave when she heard the haunting voice of Edith Piaf on the wind. "Thank goodness," she murmured. "We can get out of here." But, she wasn't close enough to the waterfall, not yet. She sped the boat along faster.

She'd be so relieved when this dream was over, when she could wake up, when she could put this mission behind her. She'd do anything for Arthur, but she was ready to be done with this particular job.

While she kept a cautious eye on the waterspouts in front of her, she never saw the threat coming from behind. She didn't even have an inkling that there could be something approaching the boat. After all, she'd been very specific in her dream specifications. There were to be no ships, no boats, no inflatable life rafts. There were no jet skis, no canoes, no kayaks.

What she hadn't thought to exclude from a city on a river were maritime shops at the marina.

When the snorkeling projections opened fire, she screamed, gunning the engine even harder.

Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the security projections in wetsuits firing at the boat. "Worse than armed dolphins," she said, her eyes landing momentarily on Arthur's sleeping form.

Returning her attention out the front of the boat, toward where she was, essentially, supposed to drive the boat off the edge of the map, she could still see the waterspouts and they were getting closer.

"Weather _and_ guns protecting you?" she asked, referring to Penelope. "Your research better be _earth_ _shattering_."

She held onto the wheel tightly as the seas became churned up, rough. The boat skipped along the growing waves.

"We're almost there," she said quietly.

* * *

"Penelope, we don't have time for this," Arthur began.

"You're going to have to _make_ time. Because this isn't right, what you've done to me."

"What... What _I_ have done to you? I've done _nothing_ except try to protect you."

"Bringing us into this dream? With the threat of Limbo? Do you honestly think this is protecting me?"

"Somebody _took_ something from you, Penelope. Something that was yours and yours alone, and I'm not about to let that someone get away with it."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"Do you remember Clay?"

She was momentarily stumped at the question that he asked out of left field. "Who?"

"Clay? Nordic-looking guy, tall, blonde wavy hair, blue eyes... beautiful little girl named Mia."

She shook her head. "I don't... I don't remember anyone named that."

Arthur nodded slowly. "No. I expect you wouldn't remember your lab partner of six years."

She laughed mirthlessly.

"Y'know, the guy who invited you over to every holiday meal, every celebration because Dad was still in Nevada, I was always gone, and you were always alone?"

"Arthur-"

"His wife, Alice, she had a sister, Susan. I happened to be home one Thanksgiving, you and Alice tried to set us up; it didn't take."

"You're... you're making stuff up now?"

"No. I'm reminding you of something you've forgotten, something someone _took_ from you."

She shook her head.

"What did you do last Christmas?"

"Last Christmas?"

Arthur nodded.

Penelope stopped to think, trying to focus on the holiday, but nothing was coming up, nothing was surfacing. "I must've... Must've worked through it."

"The one before that?"

She sighed. "This isn't... This isn't about me, Arthur, this is about you _lying _to me."

"Answer the damned question!"

She shot daggers at him, angered that he would raise his voice to her. "Why?"

"Just..." He sighed. "Just _try_."

She'd give him an inch of leeway. Closing her eyes, she struggled to think about it, to remember. The harder she tried, the more mental blocks seemed to crop up.

"What about the Christmas before that? Or the one before _it_?"

She couldn't remember. The harder she thought back, the worse it was, the more she realized there was something wrong.

"Somebody took something from you," Arthur said, "Encapsulated it so deeply, that you've lost more than just your life's work. I'll be _damned_ if I ever let _anyone_ try to take your life from you again."

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

That silence again concerned Cobb, who watched as Eames seemed to withdraw into himself. It was happening more and more often and he didn't like it. "What's going on?"

The forger seemed genuinely caught off guard at the question. "What?"

Cobb lowered his voice, piecing together the context clues. "What's going on with you and Penelope?"

"I'm doing my job. I'm not doing it particularly well," he admitted, "but I'm going about it the best I can."

"Romantic entanglements within dreams-"

"Don't, all right? Just... let's leave it right there."


	11. Chapter 11

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: As Yusuf prepares for the kick, Arthur locates the clue in Cobb's dream, locked within a safe. As Ariadne hears the music, she finds the boat under attack by a personal threat-swimmers with guns-and also a "natural" threat, with a peculiar weather pattern. Eames tries to get Penelope to realize that there's a problem but before he can succeed, Cobb interrupts them and goes with them to meet up with Arthur. Because the projections are onto them, Eames kisses Penelope, which sufficiently stuns her and her subconscious into behaving, however briefly. When questioning Arthur as to why he would do such a thing, he tells his sister that he wasn't about to let someone take her life from her again.

* * *

When the door to the suite closed, Cobb looked at Eames. "What did you have in mind?"

"If you start mingling with the projections again," he began, "it's possible they'll find you, destabilizing the dream. With two more levels..." He drifted off, shaking his head.

"You think they won't notice you?"

"Not if I become one of them," Eames said. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, adjusting his stature, his mannerisms, his stance.

Cobb watched as the forger changed before his very eyes, aging, gaining weight, losing the scuff, as Eames _became_ Lawrence Dillon. It was an impressive skill set to have, to be able to turn into someone else entirely.

It wasn't a spot-on replica of the Pentagon official. Eames wasn't that familiar with the man but he was able to recognize that Dillon shouldn't have been in her dream, that there was something amiss about his being present at all.

Cobb handed Eames the bag that had the explosive charges. "The room below."

"I know what I'm doing," he said, his accent now gruffly American.

The extractor nodded, watching as the forger limped down the corridor casually. Cobb exhaled, taking up a defensive posture. The very last thing they needed was for something to happen this close to discovering the truth, to performing a potential successful reversal of an Encapsulation.

While they'd discussed the potential issues with a failed mission in the early planning stages, Cobb was certain of one thing and, he knew, deep down, Arthur was as well. If they didn't get it now, if they couldn't succeed, they never would. Penelope's subconscious had to have been damaged, worn out.

He himself had trained her subconscious with Mal and Arthur's help years ago. It would've put up a fight against the Encapsulators, but it had to have been overrun. Given that the subconscious was now coming after them, after a member of Penelope's family, after someone she'd willingly allowed into her dreams before, then it had to have been retrained by her Encapsulators.

Any future attempts to enter her subconscious, to retrieve what was lost, would almost definitely end badly. Her trained subconscious would know what they were up to. Security would be even tighter on any other attempts.

It was now or never and, as such, Cobb didn't like waiting on Eames to set the charges or on Penelope and Arthur to finish their conversation.

He wanted them down another level now. He wanted them all closer to the kick, all closer to home.

* * *

The weight of Arthur's words hit Penelope harder than she dared to admit. She fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweater, unable to meet her brother's eyes. "I want to believe you, Arthur, I do."

"Then, just trust me."

"It's... it's asking a lot."

He shook his head. "Not that much."

"You're asking me to believe that there's something wrong with me, that someone did something to me... something I have no memory of whatsoever."

"I know that it _sounds_ crazy," he admitted.

"It's a leap of faith in a dream," she said, finally looking at him.

"What have you got to lose?"

She was silent, digging through her purse for a moment, relaxing a little when she pulled out her red die.

"Take the chance. Odd number, I'm telling you the truth. Even number, well..." He shrugged slightly.

She looked at the die, taking in the familiar grooves and indentations, the coloring. If it was an odd number, she was definitely dreaming. It depended on the even number, whether or not she was in reality, as it was weighted to always come up two. She let the die fly, watching as it bounced and rolled across the suite's desk.

Three pips landed face up.

"What do we do now, Arthur?" she asked, picking it up.

"Change in plan. Since Eames told you what was going on, he'll take the next dream. I'll take the last level."

She dropped it back into her purse. "Wait. What?"

"It'll be easier, now that you know, for you to stay with me."

"There's only one more level, though. What do you mean by two?"

"For the Eames cover mission, there was only one more level. If you'd known about all of them, you would've realized it would've been peculiar, sending you down with the mark to the final level. But... you are the mark. It was supposed to be you and Eames in the final run."

"Why would you change it, though, why now?"

Arthur frowned. "Why does it matter?"

Penelope touched her lower lip with her fingers, an unconscious move. "You trust him." Arthur didn't respond right away. "The only reason you'd let someone else go down to the deepest level of my subconscious with me is if you trusted them."

"My relationship with Eames is tenuous at best. Given that he can't even get the simplest part of the plan right, it's time to reconsider the options."

"If there's anything you've ever been, Arthur, it's thorough and cautious."

He wasn't sure that was a complement.

"You've always looked at every side of the problem, at every angle of the issue, before reacting."

"Sometimes you have to adjust your initial considerations."

"Encapsulations require a locking mechanism. As good as you are, Arthur, you aren't a thief. He is, isn't he? In addition to being a forger."

The point man nodded.

Penelope sat on the edge of the desk, sighing a little. "As good as you are, he's the best candidate for the job."

* * *

The hard part was done. Yusuf had started the music and gunned the engine. The limousine was in free fall.

While he knew the fall itself wouldn't hurt him, it was the zero-gravity that concerned him. It was the loss of control, the inability to right himself. He wished he'd been able to bail before, to watch the limousine hit the water from the safety of land.

If it weren't for the projections.

He greatly appreciated the fact that Penelope's projections were so very different than Fischer's. He rather liked the fact that he'd been able to drive, mostly unimpeded, from the nighttime embassy ball all around the countryside. Sure, there were some close calls, but they hadn't been necessarily serious, not until now.

Not until it really counted.

He closed his eyes tightly, bracing for impact. He remembered well that he hadn't enjoyed the last time he'd done that particular maneuver. He didn't imagine he'd like this experience any better.

If they ever did this again, he was going to see about arranging for a different kind of kick.

* * *

Eames worked quickly once he made his way into the room directly below the penthouse. He placed the explosives carefully, strategically. While he couldn't hear what was going on above him, he could detect the occasional movement. The sliding of a chair. Someone pacing.

He hoped that she wasn't taking the brunt of Arthur's annoyance at _him_ for letting her in on the secret.

How was he supposed to continue to lie to her when she'd already figured it out? How was he supposed to perpetuate something that would only serve to make their jobs harder in the end?

After ensuring that the detonators were on and ready for the destruct code from the remote control, he headed back into the hallway, limping down toward the elevator. He didn't like wearing the skin of the man who had _something _to do with whatever it was that had happened to Penelope. While he wasn't entirely sure why yet, he would definitely be looking into the situation when they got back.

If they got back.

He rode the elevator back up to the penthouse, easing out of the limp as he crossed back to Cobb. The silver hair vanished, as did the cheeky jowls, returning to their more natural states.

"Well?" Cobb asked.

"Ready for a kick," he said, tossing the empty bag back at the extractor. "How are we inside?"

"Well, they aren't yelling at each other anymore..."

Eames nodded slowly, falling silent.

That silence again concerned Cobb, who watched as Eames seemed to withdraw into himself. It was happening more and more often, and he didn't like it. "What's going on?"

The forger seemed genuinely caught off guard at the question. "What?"

Cobb lowered his voice, piecing together the context clues. "What's going on with you and Penelope?"

"I'm doing my job. I'm not doing it particularly well," he admitted, "but I'm going about it the best I can."

"Romantic entanglements within dreams-"

"Don't, all right? Just... let's leave it right there."

Before Cobb could ask anything else, the door to the suite opened. Arthur nodded. "Let's get out of here."

Eames followed Arthur deeper into the suite, with Cobb pulling up the rear, locking the door behind them.

Penelope was already stretched out on the king-sized bed, hooked up to the PASIV device beside her on the mattress. She was propped up on the pillows, her dark eyes following Eames as he pulled a chair closer to the bed and the device.

Cobb couldn't help but notice the way that Eames watched her in return, particularly the nearly apologetic look in the forger's blue-green eyes.

"We're ready," Arthur announced from his position on the bench at the foot of the bed.

The simple statement pulled Cobb from his thoughts. He reached out, his hand hovering over the center of the PASIV device. "Move fast, guys," he said before plunging them into darkness.

* * *

She looked around at the scenery, at the twisted, gnarled trees, at the jagged, timbered mountains in the distance, at the bent-grass footpath that stretched, long and winding, ahead of them.

"Let's move," Arthur said, leading the way into the woods.

Penelope glanced at Eames, who was beside her, in jeans and hiking boots, a tee shirt and a jacket, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He gestured for her to go next, so that she'd be surrounded, protected, should anything come up on them. Taking a breath, she moved to follow her brother, dressed similarly to Eames, and noted well her own clothing: shorts and boots with thick socks, layered shirts, and, on her wrists, sweatbands. She tugged at them a little.

Arthur kept a strenuous pace. "Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. We still need another clue this level."

"What kinds of things are we looking for?" she asked.

"It's been mostly items from our past," Arthur admitted.

She stopped for half a beat. "Like what?"

"My baseball glove, your doll..."

She calmed somewhat.

Eames slid his pack off one shoulder as they trudged along, rifling through the contents and pulling out a high-powered flashlight. He turned it on, letting the beam sweep a wide swath along the path as they hiked deeper and deeper into the woods.

They made their way along the path in relative silence for hours, only the sound of their boots occasionally crunching on the ground mingling with those of crickets and birds chirping. They crossed over streams more than once, and the rushing water had been peaceful, tranquil.

But, for the longest time, there was nothing.

"What if there isn't a clue?" Penelope asked.

"Well... I dunno. There should be something, though," Arthur said.

"Just, I can't imagine it being on a leaf or something, something we passed a couple hours ago," she said, glancing back down the path, her eyes hesitating on Eames.

"Everything else has either been from our past, or found in something from our past. There's no reason to think that it would be different," Arthur said.

Penelope danced her flashlight around them, stopping when something seemed to light up.

Eames pulled the handgun from the back of his pants, aiming it and his flashlight toward the source of the mysterious light.

"Arthur..."

The point man stopped and looked back at them, watching as Eames moved protectively in front of her. He pulled his gun as well, aiming it into the dank, dark woods.

"Watch," Penelope whispered, running her flashlight over the same spot.

The same something, small and on the ground, lit up again.

Arthur moved slowly, swiftly forward, his dark eyes surveying the surroundings as he ventured off the beaten path.

Eames stayed on high alert, watching for any projections, anything that could jeopardize their mission that was so close to being finished.

Arthur lowered his weapon when he found the light source. A cold fear gripped at his chest when he realized what it was, when he picked it up, when he saw the series of numbers engraved on it. He looked back at his sister.

Penelope wasn't sure what that look meant. It was hard to read but it wasn't good. "Well?" she ventured.

Arthur returned to the rest of the team, showing them the butcher knife. It had a worn black handle and a wide, sharpened blade. There was a crusty, rust-red residue along the blade itself.

Penelope took a stumbling step backwards, unintentionally into Eames. She paled, turning white as a ghost.

"What is that?" Eames asked.

Arthur didn't answer, he just held it out to Eames, handle first. "Put it in your bag. The sooner we get to the cabin, the sooner we get this over with."

"Arthur-" he tried.

The point man didn't say another word. He pulled a compass out, cutting a new trail, a more direct one, through the forest and toward where he would be setting up the kick.

Penelope started to numbly follow. She wasn't moving very quickly, and she nearly tripped over an exposed tree root.

Eames would've offered to help except she managed to prevent a fall by bracing a hand on the tree, righting herself before continuing on. As he kept up, he couldn't help but wonder about their reactions to the knife. It had to have some kind of significant meaning, something more than being the last clue.

* * *

The boat lurched forward and Ariadne tied off the wheel. Her fingers were wet and cold from the sail, and it made it difficult to remove the MP3 player from her bag. The deck was slick as well, and she went sliding into Arthur as she tried to reach Cobb. "Sorry," she murmured.

Plus, there was still the gunfire.

If she ever heard another gunshot, it would be too soon. She wasn't even sure she'd venture to an action, shoot-'em-up movie in her future.

Provided there was a future.

"You guys better be ready," she said, securing the headphones over Cobb's ears. She looked at her watch, taking in the exact moment, trying to time the musical cue as precisely as possible.

The second hand seemed to move achingly slowly on her watch. Even willing it to try to move faster didn't help. She was the dreamer, dammit, couldn't she control something like that?

Control.

She looked up at the twin waterspouts, coming ever closer to the boat.

She focused on them, watching as they spun independently around the ship before wreaking havoc with the swimming gunmen. The only thing that concerned her was the fact that she hadn't put the waterspouts in the dream at all. It had to come from someone else, from something else. She wasn't sure what Yusuf could be doing, if anything, to have spawned them.

She glanced at Penelope, whose expression was grim, determined.

It was, technically, the mark's overall dream. It might be possible that the scientist had created them, dropping them into the water. But why? For what purpose?

She didn't have time to fully consider the ramifications. She was almost late with her musical cue, lost in thought.

"Rise and shine, guys," she said, starting the Edith Piaf song.

* * *

Once the dreamers had descended, Cobb had shut off the elevator, preventing it from accessing the top two floors. The only way any militarized projections would be able to reach those highest levels would be through the stairwell, and even then it would take some serious firepower to access. He'd locked them all on his way back to the penthouse.

He left the suite door open, able to look in and see his charges, resting as peacefully as possible, in the bedroom. He paced in the hallway, keeping his eyes on the trouble spots. He wouldn't be able to prevent projections from entering through the windows, but he couldn't imagine any of them rappelling in. He didn't think there was a way to access the roof any other way, not without some kind of airlift.

While he continued to think about worst-case scenarios, a thought entered his mind, one that was pleasant, one that was in stark contrast to the others he'd been having.

The thought of Phillipa and little James.

They were growing up, getting so big. It was like he'd turned around and they were different children entirely. Phillipa was a beautiful child, just like her mother, with those inquisitive, intelligent eyes. James had a delightful sense of humor to go with his curiosity and his artistic talents. His children embodied the best of himself, the best of Mal.

He couldn't wait to see them again.

A ringing, loud fire alarm pulled him from his thoughts. Frantically, he looked back to see that the corridor windows were still intact. He entered the penthouse suite, ensuring that all of the windows there were closed and locked, that the rest of the team was fine.

There was nothing amiss, nothing except the alarm klaxon.

He emerged back into the hallway. He didn't even smell smoke. He didn't feel heat.

Something was wrong.

* * *

Eames was winded by the time they reached the tree house in the center of the labyrinth. While they'd been running, they hadn't had to _outrun _anyone, which was a relief over previous dreaming experiences, previous levels. The subconscious avoided filling the space as it was clearly a deserted, foreboding kind of place, more in-tune to nature than people and progress.

Even though he hadn't seen anything, Arthur seemed particularly on edge.

The point man waved his sister on up the ladder while he waited, gun at the ready, for an invisible enemy that Eames didn't think would show.

As the forger began his ascent, he said: "Go ahead and set the charges, yeah? I can set up the machine and we can go on to the last level."

Arthur wordlessly nodded.

As Eames finally reached the top of the ladder and entered the elevated cabin properly, he was nearly run over by Penelope backing up. "Easy," he said, placing a hand strongly on her shoulder to prevent them both from falling out the door.

But then he realized what was going on. He saw the familiar living room, the dingy couch, the lamp... the woman with gray-streaked dark hair.

"You... it's all your fault."

Eames moved between the woman and Penelope, pulling his gun again.

The projection wasn't scared in the slightest. "It was all right with Arthur. He was your father's pride and joy," she said, sneering at Penelope. "Everything was fine until you came along."

"Get Arthur," Eames told Penelope.

The scientist couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot, looking at her mother.

"_Penny!_"

She turned to see him, her brown eyes wide in shock.

"Down the ladder. Now."

She scrambled, forcing one leg to move in front of the other as she made her way out the door and back down the ladder, landing on the ground with a thump. "A-Arthur..."

The point man looked up from where he was setting the explosive charge at the base of the tree. "What?"

"It's _her_."

Arthur ascended the ladder quickly, setting his jaw tightly when his eyes landed on his mother.

"You!" she screeched. "You're not supposed to be home yet!"

Eames knew he'd seen this before, that it didn't end well.

Arthur didn't hesitate before pulling the trigger, watching as the projection hit the floor. "Penelope," he called. "It's safe." He dragged the lifeless body of the projection out of the way before shooting a glance at Eames. "As soon as she gets up here, get off this level. Get this done, Eames. I'm tired of this memory, and she doesn't need it either."

"What memory is this? What are you reliving?" Eames asked.

Penelope's head appeared just barely above the floor, peeking in before finally lifting herself in properly.

"Now, Eames," Arthur demanded.

While the forger wasn't keen on taking orders from the point man, he offered his hand to Penelope.

She looked at Eames's extended hand, at his open palm, before placing her hand in his.

He guided her though the living room and into the kitchen, where the metal case sat on the table. She sat down as he opened it, tugging at the IV lines. She accepted the one he offered to her, plugging herself into the machine.

She didn't have any argument this time, any hesitating moments. She'd give anything to get off the level, out of that memory.

He still wasn't sure what was going on, between her becoming pale earlier, and now this. He double-checked the compound levels and hit the timer before inserting his line and glancing at her. "Are you ready?" he asked. He could see the fear in her eyes. The woman had been petrified by the appearance of her mother.

She didn't answer him verbally, she just looked at him, holding his gaze, as she reached out and hit the button in the center of the PASIV device.

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

Eames knew they didn't have time to waste. The hard part was remembering each of the intricate twists and turns Ariadne had designed. It was supposed to be difficult, and his mind struggled to keep up, trying to count the turns in his head, the movements, the change-ups.

He slowed down when his memory began lapsing.

"Mr. Eames?"

He looked around, trying to assess where he was and where they needed to be.

She watched, seeing the concern take to his face, however briefly, and noting that his eyes flashed dark. "Talk to me," she said pleadingly.

"This way," he said, ushering her to the left.

"Are you sure?"

"Mostly."


	12. Chapter 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Eames sets the charges in the hotel while Arthur convinces Penelope that he's telling her the truth, that she's the one who's been Encapsulated. Meanwhile, Yusuf is in the middle of his kick as Ariadne prepares for hers. When Eames, Arthur and Penelope descend into the next dream, they are alone in the woods, finding the clue: a knife. What was supposed to be the safe location for the kick is anything but as Arthur and Penelope's mother shows up as a projection. Cobb realizes something is amiss when the fire alarm goes off. Eames and Penelope descend to the last dream.

* * *

Ariadne held her breath as the boat crested the edge of the waterfall. She'd never be able to look at those the same way again. She'd always thought they were beautiful, magical, majestic even, but it was rather frightening to be going over one.

It seemed scarier to her than even leaping off the building when she was in Limbo with Fischer and Cobb.

In Limbo, it was more clear, that they were not in reality. The cityscape was like nothing she'd ever seen before. Going into an apartment building, winding up in a house.

While she'd created and crafted the particular dream level they were on, it didn't look as unusual, as peculiar. It was, by design, supposed to look real. It was supposed to look like a real American city on the coast, it was supposed to look like a real waterfall. Plus, she wasn't so deep in this dream. She'd barely scratched the surface of her subconscious as opposed to being deep within it.

Her gut reaction was to change the dream, to prevent them from falling. But that would negate the kick, and that was something she couldn't do.

She wished she wasn't alone, that she had someone other than herself to talk to, to process with. Being by herself, her mind had kicked into overdrive and, as such, she was over-thinking the entire thing.

She closed her eyes as she felt her heart slam into her head.

* * *

It had been intentional, not showing Penelope the final map, the final maze. Her militarized subconscious didn't need any hints as to where they were going, as to what they were doing. The front entrance was quite familiar, however. "We're at my lab?"

Eames glanced over at her, looking at the pencil skirt and oxford, both beneath a crisp white lab coat. "Sort of," he answered cryptically, adjusting the messenger bag over his shoulder. He held the door open for her.

As soon as she walked in, she realized that it wasn't quite _her_ lab. The hallways seemed familiar, but they weren't exactly her hallways. The coloring, while close, wasn't quite right. The particular pathways weren't right either. There seemed to be a plethora of extra hallways and corridors. "What's... what's here?"

"Hopefully, what we've been looking for this whole time. Your thoughts, your memories. Your life's work."

She started to lead the way toward where she thought her lab would be, but he stopped her, placing a warm hand on her lower back.

"This way, love," he told her, guiding her down a different path.

"But-"

"Trust me."

Before she made that call, she looked at him, at his eyes, ensuring that they were that blue-green color she liked. Convinced that he was telling her the truth, she nodded.

The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, but Eames knew exactly where to go, which turns to take, which elevators to ascend, which stairs to descend, which doors to go through. Penelope was glad he knew where he was going and certainly hoped he was remembering correctly because it was confusing and overwhelming.

She wasn't sure she'd be able to manage it, not without him.

Eames knew they didn't have time to waste. The hard part was remembering each of the intricate twists and turns Ariadne had designed. It was supposed to be difficult, and his mind struggled to keep up, trying to count the turns in his head, the movements, the change-ups.

He slowed down when his memory began lapsing.

"Mr. Eames?"

He looked around, trying to assess where he was and where they needed to be.

She watched, seeing the concern take to his face, however briefly and noting that his eyes flashed dark. "Talk to me," she said pleadingly.

"This way," he said, ushering her to the left.

"Are you sure?"

"Mostly."

* * *

Cobb looked out the window, watching as the projections filed out of the hotel and into the evening air. The alarm had cleared the building, but he hadn't been the one to pull it, to even think about that as an option.

And all the other projections were just that. They were projections of Penelope's subconscious.

He looked back at the sleeping woman, at the serenity on her face.

Running a hand over his face, he hoped that, whatever it was, that he hadn't been the cause of it. No matter how great an idea, how big of a help the alarm was turning out to be, the very last thing he wanted was to start bringing Mal back into dreams, into work.

She had a place she needed to stay, and that was gone. As painful as it was, he needed to let her go and he had.

At least, he was pretty sure he had.

He'd let go of the shade, of the haunting memories. She would always be part of him, but she wouldn't be the cause of his inner turmoil, not anymore.

He was lost in his thoughts and concerns, distracted by the steady electronic bleat of the alarm that he didn't notice the music at first. When he finally distinguished between the klaxon and the kick cue, he moved fast.

* * *

When he stilled again, she stepped out of her shoes. Running flat-footed in her stockings seemed much more economical and easier than running in two-inch heels.

His eyes were closed as he struggled to remember the schematic Ariadne had created in the warehouse. Every time he tried to focus on the board, however, he kept seeing other things from their week of preparation. He saw himself in the darkened room. He heard Penelope's voice go on and on about some chemical with Yusuf. He heard the annoyance in Arthur's shuffling, pacing steps. He heard Ariadne constructing the cardboard replica of the level, and Cobb's cool voice overseeing everything, keeping them all on task.

He found everything _except_ the details he wanted.

Meanwhile, Penelope kept looking around, noting the details on the walls of the corridor. The office signs, the door numbers, even the fire exits. She padded wordlessly away from him, looking through the glass windows, in the doors, peeking around the corners, testing to see which doors were locked and which ones weren't.

It was astonishing to her, that there weren't any projections to speak of. Given the fact that they were in a dream, a confusing one, there should've been other scientist-type people wandering through the hallways, all armed with clipboards, all wearing lab coats.

But there were none. Since entering the scientific complex, they hadn't seen another soul, real or imagined.

"Sod it."

She glanced back at his sudden outburst.

He'd opened his eyes, momentarily alarmed that she wasn't at his side, until he saw her further up ahead. "There should be a way to get into the ventilation system."

"A way through the maze?"

He nodded.

She scooped up her shoes, silently rushing past him, back the way they'd came. She knocked on the hollow-sounding small metal panel. "Like this?"

Eames smiled.

* * *

Arthur closed his eyes tightly for a moment, knowing it would be at least a few minutes before the projection re-spawned and tried again. He'd done this once, wasn't it enough? How many times did he have to kill his mother before she stopped coming after his sister?

It didn't seem to matter how many bullets he put through her head or heart, the woman kept coming.

He was sure some psychiatrist somewhere would have a field day with the knowledge that, in his dream, he'd killed his mother a good dozen times already, with the promise of another few dozen more before the kick.

He kept telling himself that he was doing it for the best of reasons, to save his sister. It didn't matter how many times he had to relive the nightmare, it would all be worth it, to have Penelope back. To have the _real_ Penelope back, not some shell of her former life.

"You're not supposed to be here..."

He gritted his teeth when he heard that shrill voice again.

"You aren't supposed to be home yet."

He lifted his gun, aiming it square at her chest.

"No, _wait_!"

He hesitated, lowering his weapon slightly. That was different. She hadn't asked for leniency before.

The woman swayed in front of him lightly, running her fingers through her long, graying hair. "You were always such a good boy, a strong boy. Your father's favorite..."

Arthur clenched his jaw tightly. _Funny_, he thought, _it hadn't ended that way_.

"He loves, best of all, watching you play baseball. Practice. You're supposed to be at practice."

"Season's long since over."

"Your father will be so disappointed in you..."

He scoffed. That was one thing she'd gotten right. After what had happened, his father hadn't wanted anything to do with him.

"You should... You should go back," she said, picking casually at her fingernails. "You should go back because Penelope and I, we have things to discuss..."

Arthur didn't hesitate before lifting the gun and pulling the trigger twice in quick succession. He didn't allow her another moment to speak, another lie to tell. He watched as his mother's lifeless body hit the ground and closed his eyes.

* * *

It was dark in the tunnels, but Eames knew that they only led one direction, and that was to the end. He shoved the messenger bag ahead of him, as it was full of the clues from the other dream levels and he could only assume that those numbers would mean something to the locking mechanism on the box.

They were so close now. Determination fueled his continuing forward. If there was one thing Eames loved, it was a job well done. It didn't matter what he was trying to accomplish, he thrived on the sense that he'd done something right, that he'd performed a potentially impossible task. That was why he was a forger, that was why he was so good at his job.

He ran on that kind of adrenaline.

Penelope struggled to keep up. He moved so fast and with such clarity. He knew each turn, each slide. Only when they slid down several floors worth of vent was she able to catch up, and that was because her stockinged feet did little to prevent her from flailing uncontrollably down.

"Sorry," she whispered, wincing as she barreled into him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, noticing she was rubbing her arm.

She nodded. "How close are we?"

He grinned, boyish and charming, before kicking at a vented panel. It gave away easily. He tossed the bag out first before setting foot on the polished linoleum.

She blinked as she emerged into the sterile room, the white light nearly blinding after their cramped quarters. As she ran her fingers through her hair, she realized that she wasn't any worse for wear. And they were standing in the dead center of _her_ lab. She smiled a little.

The cabinets were the same, the sleeping cots all lined up along the back wall. Her PASIV device was an older model, not one of the travel-sized varieties, and it was exactly where it had always been, carefully positioned at the center of the cots. Her desk looked precisely the same as well, down to the framed photograph of her and Arthur taken when he'd returned home from basic training.

"Now that we're here, what..." She paused. "There isn't anything Encapsulated."

Eames frowned, easing the bag over his head and shoulder, crossing the strap over his chest again. Adjusting the placement against his hip, he inched forward toward the storage cabinets. "Everything here is the same as your lab?" he asked.

"Yes, everything," she said, taking a closer look. The blackout curtains over the windows had the same tears, the same fraying edges. The light fixture on the ceiling wasn't quite centered. Her chair was discolored on the arm, where she'd tipped over a cup of coffee one day. It looked exactly like it did earlier that morning, when she'd actually reported to work.

When she looked at Eames again, he had a gun, and she wasn't quite sure where he'd pulled it from, but he was advancing on her storage cabinets, opening each one in turn. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary there, either. Each cabinet held what it had in reality, pillows and blankets in the first one. Somnacin vials, spare needles and IV tubes in the second. Books, journals and emergency first aid kit in the third.

Adjacent to the cabinets was a door, behind which should've been additional cots, but he didn't get a chance to open it, not before they had company.

Both turned toward the lab's front door as the three people entered without knocking.

Eames had never seen anything quite like it. By the look on Penelope's face, neither had the scientist.

If he thought back hard enough, he might've remembered dreaming as a child, before he knew about sharing them with others. He might've remembered the peculiarities of his own, private dreams, the times where he saw himself within them.

But, he didn't have time to think back, not as the projection of Arthur entered, blustering, with the projections of his sister and Eames himself behind.

"I really don't understand why you're having an issue here," Arthur said.

"Issue?" asked the projected Penelope. "Oh, I don't know. How about the violations of trust? How about using me to get to some odd, neurotic ends?"

"It's nothing like _that_," the projected Eames said, trying to interject.

It was definitely like reliving the worst parts of the dream, the arguments, the annoyance. The only difference was that there was real venom behind the other Penelope's words, real hatred aimed at both Eames and Arthur's projections.

Penelope looked at Eames, startled.

He slowly inched toward her, noting well that the projections seemed to be oblivious to the fact that they were there at all. "Keep them busy," he told her in a whisper.

She looked back at him. "How?"

"You'll think of something," he said confidently.

She watched as he quietly headed back to her closet.

Checking the handle, the door was locked. Reaching into the back pocket of his slacks, he pulled out his trusty lockpicks, making quick work of the security precaution. When the door gave away, he spotted the gigantic safe in the center of the room.

It wasn't quite what he'd expected. In fact, it was _worse_ than what he'd imagined. There was a numbered keypad along with a long display panel. Counting quickly, it looked like a display long enough for all of the numbers on the clues they'd picked up along the way. Reaching into the messenger bag, he pulled out the vial first, entering its numbers in the exact order given.

* * *

Cobb had a little time still, he knew, after he consulted his watch. While he placed the headphones over Arthur's ears, he didn't start the music, not yet.

He headed out of the hotel room and down the hallway, his gun at the ready. With the ensuing evacuation, the one thing he didn't want was to hit the button to ignite the explosives and come up with nothing. He wasn't about to _miss _a kick, not if he could help it.

No one was in the hallway, either on the penthouse level or the level below. It didn't look like anyone had messed with the security measures he'd installed, to prevent anyone from entering either of the top two levels, but he wasn't about to take that kind of a chance.

He slowed when he entered the room directly below the penthouse's bedroom suite. The charges were well placed, each with their ready lights blinking.

Eames, even though he wasn't an architect, certainly had the lay of the land pegged. He knew precisely where to place the charges, to ensure that the room above maintained structural integrity for a kick, not for pure destruction. It wasn't a skill others in Eames' profession had. He'd worked with many a forger, many a thief, who didn't understand load-bearing beams.

It still didn't make sense, who could've hit the alarm.

He didn't want to dismiss it as just good luck, but could it be that easy? As he climbed the stairs back to the penthouse, he wondered how the others were doing, if Arthur was ready for the kick, if Eames and Penelope were as well. He wondered if Ariadne and Yusuf were experiencing bouts of interesting luck, too. Everything above him must've been going at least somewhat according to plan as he was listening to the kick music.

As he re-entered the bedroom suite, he picked up the MP3 player again, looking at his watch. The timing, as always, was the key. Waiting for the exact moment, he glanced out the window again, watching as the projections milled about in the street. He was looking for a specific projection, someone that might look familiar to him.

He didn't dare give the projection a name or form. He didn't want to place her in the dream, not if she hadn't been there before. His curiosity was getting the better of him, and he was dying to know if _she _was the cause of his good luck.

With a sigh, he looked back at his watch, hitting the play button.

* * *

He'd entered the numbers _exactly_ in the order in which they'd found them. But the safe didn't open. It was a string of twenty numbers. While he wasn't good at the math, he knew it was a daunting possibility, if he had to unscramble the numbers to find the right code.

He sat down, attempting to do just that, going off of gumption and hope more than anything.

It was difficult, making sure he only used each numeral once, given the argument playing on in the background.

"_You_ weren't supposed to be here," Penelope's projection yelled.

"I was asked!" responded his own voice.

"I don't care if you were cordially invited by the President. _I_ didn't give permission for _any _of you to be inside my head."

The line about the president gave Eames momentary pause. He couldn't think about that, though, not yet. He had to keep plugging in the numbers.

"It's for your own good," Arthur said snidely.

"For..." The projection reached a shrill level that made Eames wince. "For _my _own good? Who gives you that right? To make that call for me? Who died and left you in charge?"

Arthur lowered his voice. "You know damn well who did."

Eames stopped again, glancing back at the lab itself. He didn't see the real Penelope. For all intents and purposes, in his mind, he was calling her Penny, to try to differentiate between the two different Penelopes. He saw the projections all standing in a circle. All were agitated, all were gesturing wildly, from rolled eyes to pointed fingers.

The projected scientist shoved her brother away from her, turning from them.

"It's not my fault, y'know," Arthur said.

"No, of course not. It's all mine. Always was," Penelope said.

His projection voiced the question Eames had, too. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur sneered. "Stay out of this."

Eames tried to focus on the task at hand, to accomplish what needed to be done before the kick. He needed to crack the code. He couldn't just blow the locking mechanism. He wasn't sure what it would do to the Encapsulated thoughts within. He wasn't sure if it would damage them, if it would somehow corrupt the memories.

He tried yet another incorrect code, trying to fight back his frustration as the safe offered a buzzing sound.

He attempted three or four other codes before he realized the rest of the room was silent. He took a slow breath, quietly getting to his feet. As he raised his gun, looking out at the lab again, he heard something small, a tiny metallic noise.

Taking a step forward, he noticed a copper coin rolling toward him, stopping just in front of him. A penny? Before he could figure out why, two more joined the first. As a fourth and fifth one began their journey to the storage room, he glanced back, to see where they might've come from.

He saw stockinged feet stretched out from behind the desk, and a trail of tiny coins seemingly coming from them.

A quick search of the rest of the room revealed that the projections were gone. "Penelope?" He paused. "Penny...?"

"She can hear you. She just can't respond."

He spun on his heel, seeing Penelope, or a younger-looking version of the scientist, a _different_ projection of her, behind him.

She wore a pair of acid wash jeans, frayed at the ankle, and a tee shirt, her feet bare, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She nodded approvingly, seeing the items spread out on the floor in front of the safe. "You got them all. Excellent."

"Sorry, I'm not sure we've met," Eames said, his gun trained on her.

"Hardly the way to say hello, Mr. Eames," she said, resting a hand on her hip.

"Who are you?"

"You really don't have manners, do you? Well, you are a forger," she said, seeming to discuss more with herself than with him. "Everything in the first dreaming level, all the kindness, that was all, well, forged..."

"How do you know about the first dreaming level?"

"I was there. Well, sort of," she said, leaning against the safe.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to figure out what was going on himself. Was she some kind of forger? Was it possible that Arthur didn't have the first clue about his sister, about who she was really? He cocked the gun. "How about a straight answer, darling?"

She sighed. "I was there," she began, "because of who I am."

"And that is?" he prompted.

"I am Penelope. Well, her subconscious. In human form. If you can call it that..."

The projected Penelope seemed more interested in talking to herself than with him.

"What's locked up in here," she said, patting the top of the safe, "will help explain better. You'll have to bear with me, Mr. Eames, I've been down here a long time without the benefit of the rather important part of my processor. It makes things... difficult."

"How long have you been down here?"

"Well, in real-time, since August of last year. In dream time..." She puffed out her cheeks.

He didn't have to be that good at arithmetic to know the compounded time was tremendous, which might explain why she was talking to herself so much. That much time locked in a kind of Limbo would be horrendous. "Suffice it to say, a very long time?"

She nodded.

"You're... You're Penelope's subconscious?" he asked again.

"Took me a while to get here. Some maze," she said with a nod. "I wasn't sure I could manage it."

"How did you?"

"Well, when Mom showed up, it made it easy."

"Your mum?" Eames thought back to the shrieking shrew of a woman from Arthur's dream, to the way the projected Penelope was acting. He glanced back at the stockinged feet, at the pennies that were spread on the floor between him and the desk. Keeping his gun trained at the projection, he moved slowly backward, to where he could see his mark more clearly.

When she finally came into view, her head was leaned back against the wall, resting at an uncomfortable angle. The sleeves of her pristine white lab coat were crimson.

"Penny," he whispered, rushing to her. He forgot all about the fact that there was a projection behind him as he slid onto his knees to get to her. He felt something warm and wet coat his slacks as he knelt beside her. Looking down, panic gripped him as he realized they were sitting in a pool of her own blood, flowing freely from the gashes on her wrists.

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

Arthur braced for impact, holding onto his sister tightly as the floor began to tip toward the front of the tree house. The falling sensation was unmistakable, undeniable. As they tilted forward, he wished that he could leave the memory safe and sound in his past from now on.

He didn't think about it often, not while he was at work, not while he was on the clock, but seeing as how this particular job touched on aspects of his personal history, he couldn't help but remember. He much preferred not to consider it, not to relive his past. It wasn't a particularly bright spot in his childhood. While it had helped form him, mold him into the man he'd grown into, he didn't need to be reminded of it. If his thoughts never drifted to that particular moment in history again, he certainly wouldn't mind.

As the floor began its rapid ascent, he could only hope that Eames had succeeded, that he'd unlocked Penelope's memories, that the job would end well.


	13. Chapter 13

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Ariadne takes the boat over a waterfall. Cobb watches as the projections file out of the hotel thanks to the fire alarm, and he makes sure that they didn't access the lower level and the charges Eames had set before dreaming. Arthur kills the projection of his mother, who is trying to get to Penelope. Eames loses his bearing in the lowest dream, and he takes a shortcut through the ventilation system. The safe isn't quite what he expected, neither are the projections. When the room goes mysteriously quiet, he meets a younger version of Penelope, who claims to be her subconscious, because the scientist is on the floor, bleeding.

* * *

He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at his snoozing team. The hardest part wasn't the avoiding militarized subconscious projections or the creation of the dream. The hardest part was knowing when to initiate the kick.

While the timing helped, it still wasn't an exact science. It depended upon human input, human interaction. It was a gut call. All of that meant there was plenty of room for error, for mistakes.

He actually wished he'd been able to see the issues that had come from mistimed kicks in the Fischer Inception. While he'd heard the stories from Arthur, while they had tried to recreate the issue in a test, it hadn't been the same. There were still nuances to the lost gravity that had come from certain choices and experiences they couldn't replicate in experiments.

Given that he still had gravity, Cobb was going to assume it was a good thing.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small metal top. He felt the familiar weight and dimensions of it. The smoothness was undeniable. The imperfections, few and far between, were still there. After years of holding it, studying it, it was, without a doubt, his totem, formerly Mal's. He clutched it tightly in the palm of his hand for a moment before launching it on the nightstand. He watched as it never wavered, as it spun cleanly and effortlessly.

It was definitely time to go home. Time to see his children again. Time to try. It was time to stop worrying about the others and trust in the plan, in the ability of all team members involved to execute them on command. He worked with the very best in the business, after all.

Glancing back as he snatched the top from the table, he verified the time of the song with that on his watch. As the tempo began to rise, he hit the button on the remote detonator and held his breath.

The sound was deafening. Even though he knew it was a dream, he braced for the impact he know he'd feel as the upper floor crashed into the one below it. It wasn't real. It was all a dream... all a bad dream he couldn't wait to wake up from.

* * *

"Christ, Penny," Eames whispered. She was pale and cold to his touch when he gently put his hand onto her cheek. He sat up, looking around for something, anything, to help stem the bleeding.

The younger projection held out two rolls of gauze she'd pilfered from the storage cabinet.

Eames regarded her coldly.

"I didn't realize _this_ was going to happen, okay?"

"You had some idea," he said, busily wrapping Penelope's left wrist and elevating it before moving to the right one.

"Well... that's why I followed Mom."

"What does your mother have to do with any of this?"

The projection glanced away. "Look, if you take care of her, I'll plug in the code-"

He stopped in mid-wrap. "Don't you _dare_ touch that safe."

She frowned. "But... why not?"

"You're a projection."

"I'm not _just_ a projection, all right?" she said. "I _am _her subconscious, not a forgotten image lost within it."

"How do I know you didn't do this to her?"

"Does she really strike you as the suicidal type? 'Cause, that's what it would be. And I think, while, sure, I've got issues, I'm pretty well adjusted, all things considered."

She didn't seem like the kind of person who would take her own life. If he'd thought for a moment, he would've looked more closely at the wounds, to see if they looked self-inflicted, but there was so much blood. His hands were covered in it. Numbly, he got to his feet.

"So, that's your hypothesis? A projection did this to her? To me?"

"_Stop_ saying you're her."

"But, I am-" She stopped dead seeing his unamused expression. "Why would a projection do that, huh? Projections are supposed to seek out the dreamer, not the owner of the subconscious. They should be looking for _you_ not her."

He paused.

"See? It's because it wasn't a projection. It was a memory."

"What kind of memory would do that?"

"Mr. Eames, you've asked me repeatedly this journey to trust you."

"I've asked her to trust me," he said, looking back at Penelope, at the blood seeping through her wrapped wrists already.

"Well, I'm asking you to trust me here. I know the combination to the outer lock as well as the arrangement of the pictogram for the secondary lock. It's the third lock I can't crack on my own."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"Did you honestly think it was going to be that easy? That, with this level of Encapsulation, there would only be one lock on the box? They didn't want me to exist. They severed our ties, every last one... I'm... I'm lucky to be here at all. She's lucky to be here at all. If she hadn't _already_ experienced the dream-like state, if she hadn't _already_ known what it was like, I probably wouldn't be here... And you'd be stuck in Limbo forever."

"What?"

"Well, that's the kick, isn't it?" she asked, gesturing toward the box. "You unleash the power within that box, it destroys this dream level. But, if you can't get into it, you can't ride the kick... you miss your chance to go home. You wind up stuck in Limbo indefinitely. If you wake up at all, it'll be a miracle."

* * *

Arthur couldn't help but relive it. Agonizing moment after moment. It was like a record player, stuck on skip. A loop he couldn't get out of.

The more he stated to remember, the more he started to see things differently. The view from the tree house windows didn't show other trees or timbered mountains in the distance, it showed desert. The dingy feel of the room started to brighten. The colors contrasted and were almost painful to view.

The more he remembered, the more the dream sequence changed, the more he saw the moment from his childhood.

The moment he wanted to forget.

He tried to kill his mother every time she appeared, but it became more difficult to do.

He remembered how sweet she'd been that morning. How she'd made his favorite lunch for him to take with him to school. How she'd seemed so normal. How he thought she was finally turning her life around, how the medication must've been working.

He'd actually been happy to come home early that afternoon. He'd actually been relieved that the practice had ended ahead of schedule.

But, she'd been so different by the afternoon.

There was a different glint to her eye, a different demeanor in how she sat on the couch, on what she was doing.

Nothing else seemed necessarily out of the ordinary, not at first.

Her reaction hadn't been expected. He thought she would've been happy to see him, given her sunny disposition that morning.

Before he'd fully been able to process it, he smelled something out of place. It wasn't dinner. It wasn't something on fire.

It smelled coppery, metallic.

Inhaling deeply as he closed his eyes, it filled Arthur's senses. It inhabited every pore, every cell. When he opened his eyes again, he could see feet sticking out from behind the entertainment center in the living room.

He could see, too, the hem of his sister's favorite acid wash jeans, frayed at the ankle. "Penelope?"

"You! You're not supposed to be here."

He spun, seeing his mother nearing him, that inhuman look in her eye.

Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, emptying the clip into her.

As the projected memory fell, he glanced back into the kitchen, to see the steady rise and fall of Penelope's chest as she breathed deeply, lost in the shared dream with Eames. When he looked back at the entertainment center, the feet were gone.

In the few brief moments of peace, he realized he heard the sound of a familiar song float through the air.

The kick. He'd forgotten all about it. He looked at his watch, realizing that he was running late with the cue. Muttering a string of curses under his breath, he placed the headset over Eames's ears and fast-forwarded the MP3 slightly, so it would reflect a more accurate time. With a sigh, he hit play.

* * *

She sat on one of the cots, her legs swinging back and forth, as she watched Eames enter one wrong code after another. "Just... try me?"

"What if you give a code that summons more projections? A code that triggers the destruction of this dream?"

"I don't want to die either," she said, looking back at her older form.

Eames was quiet for a moment, trying another code in desperation. "Why can't you unlock the third level?"

"It requires two people," she said. "One of those separate key things, each far enough away there's no way possible for a human to complete."

"And that's the last level of the safe?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I haven't been able to get past it."

"But, you have gotten past this level?" he asked, groaning in frustration as the error message appeared again.

She nodded, then paused. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?" he asked, turning to her.

"You hear that, don't you?"

He shook his head initially but then he heard it, the familiar haunting refrain of the kick music. "Enter the code."

She slid off the cot, moving toward the safe. Her nimble fingers flew across the keypad, hitting the long numbered phrase from memory.

When the first door opened, she didn't hesitate before hitting the series of photo buttons in the right order. When the second door opened, he saw what she meant. Two keys hung inside the safe, on the exterior of the third level. She took one, tossing him the other.

Within the storage room, two locks emerged from opposite walls.

"See?" she said.

He still hoped he was doing the right thing, making the right decision as he crossed toward the lock on the far side.

"On three," she said. Off his nod, she began her count. "One..."

Eames looked back, seeing Penelope-_Penny-_still on the ground, still bleeding.

"Two..."

He glanced at the projection of Penelope. She was a contradiction. She had such youthfulness and yet she seemed to know so much. She seemed a little crazy, talking to herself, and yet so coherent, able to enter the safe's previous codes.

"Three!"

He turned his key the same time the _other_ Penelope did.

The door slid open but within was another safe level. "Oh, come on!" the projection howled.

Eames moved forward, looking at the barrier between them and the Encapsulated thoughts. His blue-green eyes took in the sensor on the door: an optical biometric scanner. He exhaled.

"What's left?" the projected Penelope asked, peering over his shoulder.

Eames rubbed his hand over his face. "Something I'm not sure either of us can crack."

The projection edged him out of the way, kneeling in front of the scanner and letting the beam search her eye. Once the scan had been performed, she was denied. "But... but, they're my thoughts."

"But you didn't Encapsulate them," Eames said. He searched his messenger bag, his pants pockets, coming up with Dillon's ID.

"What're you..."

"Shh," he murmured, focusing on the photo. The basic physical features-hair, skin, shape of the nose and ears-came easily. After all, he'd already played Dillon once. It was a long shot, trying to mimic the eyes enough to fool the scanner, but he didn't have much of a choice.

The projection watched, half amazed, half amused, at the transformation. "Now, that is pretty cool..."

He ignored her, closing his eyes tightly. When he opened them again, they were pure crystal blue.

"Whoa," she murmured under her breath.

Eames didn't waste any more time, going directly for the scanner, holding his eye very still within the beam. He wasn't sure what he should be first, shocked or pleased, when the door swung open. He didn't have much time to consider which emotion to feel, as the sound that emanated from the safe was nearly deafening.

* * *

Arthur braced for impact, holding onto his sister tightly as the floor began to tip toward the front of the tree house. The falling sensation was unmistakable, undeniable. As they tilted forward, he wished that he could leave the memory safe and sound in his past from now on.

He didn't think about it often, not while he was at work, not while he was on the clock, but seeing as how this particular job touched on aspects of his personal history, he couldn't help but remember. He much preferred not to consider it, not to relive his past. It wasn't a particularly bright spot in his childhood. While it had helped form him, mold him into the man he'd grown into, he didn't need to be reminded of it. If his thoughts never drifted to that particular moment in history again, he certainly wouldn't mind.

As the floor began its rapid ascent, he could only hope that Eames had succeeded, that he'd unlocked Penelope's memories, that the job would end well.

* * *

Cobb found his heart beating rapidly in his chest as the floor gave away, as the penthouse began its descent. It didn't matter now what had happened. All that could've been done was done. There was no way to go back now, no way to fix it, no way to have one more shot at anything.

He watched as Penelope rolled off the bed, as Eames slipped from the chair, as Arthur fell to the floor.

He barely had the time to register that, at least, Arthur's eyes opened, before he left the penthouse of the hotel.

* * *

Ariadne clung tight to the boat. She felt that odd sensation, like she wanted to scream, to scream with all her might, but her vocal cords wouldn't cooperate. Like she'd gone irreparably mute. Like she'd never speak again.

She wanted to close her eyes tightly, to ignore what was left of that dreaming level. She waited, however, watching her charges, watching as Cobb's blue eyes fluttered and opened.

She let out a pleased breath as her world, momentarily, went black.

* * *

Yusuf fumbled with his tank and regulator, thankful to take his first big gulp of air after having been submerged beneath the icy depths. It hadn't taken long for the limousine to fill with the murky waters. He glanced back at the rest of the team, spotting Cobb kicking at the back window of the limousine.

Arthur was coming around, too, as well as Ariadne. Satisfied that they didn't need him, Yusuf eased out the front window, making his way toward the surface.

For Eames, waking up to the shock of the cold water was hard to take. After all, just a moment ago, he'd been in a laboratory, nowhere near the frigid lake. Eames took the regulator Cobb offered him, taking the first precious breath to ease his burning lungs.

Cobb swam out the back window first, reaching back into the limousine to help Ariadne through with her heavily-weighted pink and orange chiffon impeding her movements.

Arthur tended to his sister, who wasn't awake yet.

A new fear coursed through Eames's body. What if it hadn't worked? What if the safe wasn't the Encapsulated thoughts? How could he have been so blind as to trust a projection, embodiment of Penelope's subconscious or no?

Arthur's dark eyes cut like a laser when they landed on the forger's face. Annoyed, he freed Penelope from her seat belt, pulling her along to the back window, where Cobb took over.

Arthur swam out next, followed by Eames. As they surfaced, they could see Yusuf already on land, helping Ariadne out. Cobb dragged Penelope's lifeless body along behind him as he headed for the shoreline.

The point man didn't wait to start in on the forger. "What the hell happened down there?"

"I opened the box. It had to have held the Encapsulation; that was the kick..." Eames said, almost more to convince himself than the point man.

"Then, why isn't she awake?" Arthur demanded angrily.

"I don't know," Eames confessed.

"You don't... You don't _know_?"

Eames watched as Ariadne and Yusuf helped Cobb drag the scientist onto the sand. "I don't know," he said again, softer.

Arthur, agitated, moved forward, leaving the Brit in his wake. "How much time do we have left?" Arthur called.

Cobb checked his watch. "Five more minutes."

Eames reached into his pocket, fingering his totem. He didn't often carry it. He wasn't afraid of losing his grip on reality all that much, but he had put it in his pocket that morning when he'd left his hotel suite, and he was grateful for that.

"It may not be as bad as you fear," Yusuf said as Arthur knelt beside his sister.

"And how's that?" Arthur asked, noting well that Penelope was breathing, at the very least.

"We spoke at length about the after-effects of Encapsulation. Her brain may be protecting itself here. Just because she's not awake doesn't mean Eames failed. He very well could have succeeded. But, we'll need to see in reality, not in the dream world," explained the chemist.

Arthur turned to Eames as the forger stumbled ashore. "Start talking."

Eames glanced at Cobb, who wasn't sure what to make of the situation before him. He stood, pensive, his arms crossed over his chest. Ariadne looked thoroughly worried. Her dark eyes didn't quite meet his. Slowly, he began: "She was injured in the last level, by a projection."

"Projections don't go after the subject. Not unless _you_ brought it in," Arthur said, only thinly veiling the accusation.

"Not... not a projection, a memory," Eames amended.

"A memory?" Ariadne asked.

Arthur hesitated.

"She... She said she'd be able to explain it all, once she woke," Eames continued. "That, once the thoughts were free of the Encapsulation, that everything would make sense."

"Penelope said that? How could she know? She didn't remember the Encapsulation, or what was lost," Arthur said.

Eames took a breath. "Let me clarify. Penelope's projection of herself told me that."

All eyes turned to him, some curious, some disbelieving.

"Penelope's projection told you? Again, are you sure _you_ didn't project it?" Arthur sneered.

"It's not impossible," Eames defended. "It's a common dreaming phenomenon, for those who aren't stunted by so much shared-dreaming. You don't ever remember, as a child, seeing yourself in a dream?" Off Arthur's disbelieving shaking head, he added quickly: "She said she _was_ Penelope's subconscious, all right?"

"The subconscious is... it's not a person. It's indefinable," Cobb said.

"She was very much definable. It was still Penny, but she was younger-"

"-_Penny_?-" scoffed Arthur.

The forger continued. "-Younger, barefooted, in jeans, a tee shirt..."

That gave Arthur further pause.

"What?" prompted Eames. When the point man didn't respond right away, he repeated his query: "Arthur, what is it?"

* * *

The first thing Cobb was acutely aware of was the screaming. It was the blood-curdling, high-pitched wailing of a woman in dire pain. He squinted his eyes, blinking a few times as he tugged the IV from his wrist. When he was able to fully focus on what was going on around him, he saw Penelope writhing on the lounge chair in the middle of the rented warehouse, her body contorting and convulsing. Eames held her down at her shoulders; Arthur, at her legs.

Yusuf struggled to fill a vial, his hands shaking. The chemist was clearly not used to such a rude awakening after a shared-dream experience.

"Hurry it up!" Arthur directed.

"Going as fast as I bloody can," Yusuf muttered, carefully trying to measure the proper dose.

Eames dodged a flying fist as one of Penelope's arms got loose for just a moment. "She's going to hurt herself, or one of us."

"Hold her arm steady," Yusuf directed. "The last thing I want to do is have the needle go tearing her up."

"Easier said than done. Cobb!" Arthur called.

The extractor got to his feet, joining Eames in holding Penelope's upper body. He forced her left arm as straight as he could, tugging at her sleeve, ripping it slightly, to expose her skin. He held her arm as still as possible.

Ariadne couldn't look, not as Yusuf finally injected the milky liquid into the scientist's arm.

Eames watched as Penelope slowly began to ease. As he released her, confident that she would do no further flailing, he took a half step back. He looked at her exposed wrist, however, seeing what she'd long tried to hide.

The scars were old, but the tell-tale slashes across her wrist were pink and puckered.

As Eames looked shocked at Arthur, the point man quickly lowered what was left of his sister's sleeve back over her arm, shooing the rest of the team away from her.

"How long does the sedative last?" Arthur asked.

"For the dosage, about twenty-four to thirty-six hours," the chemist replied.

Arthur nodded slowly.

"Arthur, do you need anything?" Cobb asked.

"No. Thank you," Arthur said, shooting Cobb a knowing look.

The extractor nodded before herding the rest of the team out of the warehouse, down the stairs, and onto the sidewalk below. It was just at dawn. The city was still quiet yet, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.

"I'll come back by in a few hours, check on them, bring Arthur some breakfast," Cobb said. "Yusuf, can you swing back by at lunch? Check on the patient and bring a bite?"

The chemist shrugged but nodded.

"Ariadne..." As Cobb started to ask her about dinner, she was distracted, watching as Eames took off, heading down the sidewalk and turning the corner. She started to go after him, but Cobb caught her elbow. "Let him go."

"But-"

"Let him go," Cobb repeated. "Dinner? Do you think you can take Arthur dinner?"

"Well, yeah, but..." She still pointed toward where Eames had disappeared.

"I'll talk to him later," Cobb promised.

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

Drumming his fingers on the table for a moment, he organized what he needed to do first. After placing an order for room service, he took a deep breath and dialed a much longer number, an international one.

He wasn't sure the man would take his call. He needed a favor. While the initial meeting hadn't been the best, he felt like they'd parted on amiable terms. At least enough where he felt comfortable asking for help.

The receptionist greeted him in Japanese first, then English: "Thank you for calling Proclus Global. How may I direct your call?"

"Mr. Saito, please," Eames said, leaning back in his chair.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "May I tell him who's calling?"

The smile that graced his lips didn't quite meet his eyes. "A tourist."


	14. Chapter 14

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one. Having a very strange day with insanely high highs and really rather crappy lows... Posting early on the off chance that someone might need a pick-me-up of a new chapter. ~K

Previously: Eames has to trust the projection of Penelope, in order to unlock the secrets Encapsulated in Penelope's mind. Penelope is out of commission, bleeding and near death on the floor of the final room of the maze. Arthur remembers coming home from baseball practice earlier than his mother expected. He remembers a metallic, copper scent, and seeing his sister on the floor. It takes Eames's particular skill set to unlock the final lock on the safe containing Penelope's memories, which is the final level's kick. As the kick travels through the upper levels, they all wake, except for Penelope. She wakes when the time runs out on the PASIV device. As the team struggles to calm her down in the aftermath of undoing the Encapsulation, Eames finally sees scars on Penelope's wrists.

* * *

Cobb tried several times off and on to get in touch with Eames. It didn't matter when he called, or how often he called, they always ended in the clipped request for a voicemail. Cobb had already left ten.

"Still?" Ariadne asked.

Cobb shrugged, tossing his phone onto the table between them.

With the warehouse occupied, they'd had to move their meeting location to Cobb's hotel room. The quarters were a little cramped, but it wasn't bad. There wasn't much left to do. They'd need to clear out the warehouse once Penelope woke, but that wouldn't take long. He and Arthur had long-since perfected the art of packing their belongings quickly. More than once, they'd had to leave somewhere on the run.

"What... what's wrong with him? I mean, why isn't he...?" Ariadne drifted off as Cobb leaned back in his chair.

"He'll come around," Cobb said, though he didn't sound too convincing.

"And Arthur... He was okay this morning?" She'd asked the question a dozen times, and the answer had always been the same, but she couldn't seem to stop worrying about them, about all of them.

"He was fine. Quiet."

"There are different kinds of quiet, though," she said. "There's his normal quiet, which is sort of annoyed, sarcastic... Then there's the definitely _not_ normal quiet."

Cobb took a slow breath. "I'm sure he'll be better when she wakes up."

Both turned when the door opened and Yusuf entered.

"Well?" Ariadne asked immediately.

Yusuf was only mildly startled at the request for information. "Well, the patient seems fine. She's breathing, her pulse-rate is excellent. She is doing what she needs to do, sleeping dreamlessly, letting her brain sort of do what it needs to do to get everything back together."

"What about Arthur?" she pressed.

"Arthur is Arthur," Yusuf said with a shrug.

"That's not really... that's not really helping," she said, turning again to Cobb.

The extractor tried not to sigh. "You'll see him at dinner."

"Can't I see him now?"

"He's not the most sociable of people at the moment," Yusuf warned.

Ariadne was quiet but not for long. "What about Eames?"

Cobb rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Ariadne..."

"I just... did you see him, Yusuf?"

The chemist shook his head. "Haven't seen him since this morning."

* * *

Eames worked every connection he had, pulled every string he knew how to tug. It would've been an exhausting day had he stopped to think about what he was doing. As it was, he just kept moving forward. The table in his hotel suite grew more and more cluttered as the hours stretched on. The hotel fax worked overtime.

He hadn't told the others where he was staying. While he understood that being part of a team often meant getting along with the rest of the group, he enjoyed having his privacy, particularly as his happened to be overlooking Central Park. The rest of the team had taken up rooms in one hotel closer to the warehouse, not quite as nice, with less appealing views. Granted, with how busy he was staying, he hadn't had much time for gazing at the majestic city.

The more he learned about Lawrence Dillon, the more he despised the man. While Eames hadn't served long, he'd put in some time in a British Army uniform. The dishonorable discharge hadn't been kind to his future employment prospects, but it did lend itself handily to what he was doing at the moment. He remembered enough of the jargon to be able to decipher what he was looking at, and to pepper it into conversations he had with various military officials.

Only when his stomach vehemently growled did he realize he'd worked through breakfast with little more than a cup of coffee, and he hadn't touched anything at lunch.

It was now the early afternoon, and there was still so much left to do.

Drumming his fingers on the table for a moment, he organized what he needed to do first. After placing an order for room service, he took a deep breath and dialed a much longer number, an international one.

He wasn't sure the man would take his call. He needed a favor. While the initial meeting hadn't been the best, he felt like they'd parted on amiable terms. At least enough where he felt comfortable asking for help.

The receptionist greeted him in Japanese first, then English: "Thank you for calling Proclus Global. How may I direct your call?"

"Mr. Saito, please," he said, leaning back in his chair.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "May I tell him who's calling?"

The smile that graced his lips didn't quite meet his eyes. "A tourist."

* * *

It was dark as he ascended the metal stairs, his loafers anything but silent as he clanked his way to the second floor entrance. It had taken the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening to finish up everything he'd set out to do. But, it had been worth it. He had a plan.

Arthur looked up from his chair when he heard the door open. While he'd seen the rest of the team, he figured Eames was long since gone. Cobb had told him that morning that the forger had split from the group shortly after they woke. He narrowed his dark eyes slightly. "Didn't expect to see you."

Eames shrugged his left shoulder slightly. His right hand was preoccupied holding a rather large suitcase. "How is she?"

Arthur dodged the question. "You're taking off?"

The forger arched an eyebrow. "Hardly." He lowered the case onto one of the empty chairs, unzipping it. First, he pulled out a bottle of aged scotch. "Thought you might need a drink."

Arthur cracked a hint of a smile.

"Take that as a yes, then," Eames said, removing two cut-glass tumblers that he'd pilfered from his hotel suite. He filled both glasses with a healthy two fingers worth before handing one to the point man, who gratefully accepted it.

"Thanks," Arthur said, watching out of the corner of his eye as Eames sat down. He took a long, slow sip, feeling the familiar burn, enjoying the taste as the scotch slid down his throat. "She's been resting all day, which is good. It's what she's supposed to be doing." He took another sip before asking. "What about you? What are _you_ doing?"

Eames reached back into his case, pulling out a thick file folder, offering it to Arthur.

"What is this, another job?"

"Of sorts," Eames acknowledged.

As the point man set his drink on the floor at his feet, he accepted the folder, opening it. "Lawrence Dillon," he read. "Our mystery projection."

Eames nodded. "I figured out the how and the when behind Penny's Encapsulation. What I don't understand is the _why_. What _is_ the dream-like state? What's it capable of?"

Arthur was silent for several minutes, his dark eyes scanning the pages, the information that the forger had compiled. "It's a heightened state of awareness. It opens the mind up to processing better, deeper, clearer. We only use such a tiny fraction of our brain in our daily, waking use. The dream-like state taps into the subconscious, uses it while we're awake."

"Might it make one aware of Extraction?" Eames asked. "Of Inception?"

Arthur nodded.

Eames winced a little, hoping that Fischer was long since past the point of realizing someone else had given him the idea that breaking up his father's empire was the way to go.

"It might make prisoners of war realize that they weren't getting a fair shake," Arthur continued. "The military wouldn't want that, would they? They also wouldn't want to have the added complexity to training soldiers. If everyone was able to tap into their dream-like state, to process at faster speeds... imagine what that would do? Your training instructor says one thing, your mind, sharp as a tack, fast as lightning, says otherwise. What are you going to do?"

The forger let out a mirthless laugh. "Get kicked out again," he said, taking another drink. "Seems our man Dillon, here, has some very dodgy dealings in sleep and prisoners. He seems to like invading the dreams of those being held indefinitely under your Patriot Act. Seems to think he can get away with whatever he pleases. If what you're saying is true, then the only person who could derail his plans... is your sister."

"Why not just kill her, though?" Arthur asked, his words laced with agony. "They killed her lab partner. Why not her, too?"

"Encapsulation has always been a tricky science, even more difficult to perfect than Extraction, than Inception. On the scale and level of Penny's Encapsulation, that's... that's practically theoretical. No one could've imagined that it would've worked as well as it did for as long as it did. I think she was a guinea pig. I think they wanted to see how much they could Encapsulate safely, what kinds of chemicals it would take, what kinds of security it would need..."

"For what purpose?"

Eames shrugged. "Imagine someone like that," he said, nodding toward the file Arthur held. "Someone like a _Presidential adviser_, able to achieve such great results with someone's life's work. Imagine the kind of hell they might unleash upon, say, that President they have access to."

Arthur's countenance darkened, getting that ex-Marine, that _killer _look in his eyes.

"At ease," Eames remarked, only half-joking.

Slowly, the point man relaxed, but he had to ask: "What did she dream about? After I left?" Arthur sensed easily that Eames was hesitant to share. "You said earlier, she was hurt?"

The forger nodded. "I was working on the safe. It, uh... Penelope was supposed to keep the other projections busy. That's when her younger projection appeared."

"The other projections... who were they?"

"You... me... _her_." Off Arthur's quizzical look, Eames continued: "I should've paid more attention, but it was one hell of a lock. When I realized there was a problem, it was too late. She was on the floor, bleeding, from her wrists." Eames watched as Arthur closed his eyes tightly. "The scars. They aren't from the dream. They're from before, aren't they?"

Arthur swallowed hard. "Our mother was very pretty, a lot like Penelope. Lithe, graceful. She was a chorus line dancer in a show when she and Dad met. Dad did odd jobs around the casino. Bouncer, dealer, bartender... Shortly after I was born, he was promoted to pit boss. With that job came new responsibilities."

While Eames wasn't sure where the story was going, he listened closely.

"He worked long hours. It put a certain strain on their relationship. When Penelope was born... they diagnosed my mother with postpartum depression. Dad decided maybe they'd missed that diagnosis after I was born. She was fine, on medication, but she didn't stay on it too long. She stopped going to counseling. She did okay for a while, but it was always strained." Arthur paused for a moment, looking at his hands. "Dad and I were a lot alike. Quiet."

Eames chalked it up to concern for his sister, why Arthur was so chatty. And he wasn't about to interrupt the point man for fear he'd never hear the end of the story.

"He suffered a lot in silence. She always had fears, issues. The older we got, the more Mom didn't hesitate to show her displeasure. She'd scream or yell. It didn't matter what had gone wrong, it was always Penelope's fault. Even if nothing had happened, even if there was no way Penelope was even remotely related to the problem, it was always her fault."

The forger didn't have any trouble imagining the evil shew of a woman he'd seen off and on in the shared-dreaming doing that kind of damage to her own daughter. It made more sense now, why Penelope had acted in such a peculiar way after seeing her mother in Arthur's dream level.

"I was sixteen, Penelope was fourteen..."

_ He climbed out of his beat up pickup, still in his uniform. There weren't the usual grass stains or dirt clouds. Practice had been called early. The coach had something to do after school, before practice should've let out._

_ He didn't care. He was fine with going home early, getting a reprieve. It wasn't that he didn't like baseball. It was just nice to have a random day off._

_ Arthur headed to the front door, sliding his key into the lock. He imagined the look on his mom's face. Things had been coming around for the better for once. He'd made the assumption that she following her doctor's orders again. More than once in a normal week, he'd heard the familiar fight between his parents. The baseless accusations she'd throw about his nonexistent infidelities, followed by his pleading for her to get professional help. She was more than any of them could deal with._

_ But, as of late, she'd actually been a model mother. _

_ As he entered the house, however, he noticed her on the living room couch. She normally sat on the recliner, so that no one could sit beside her. Her dark eyes were focused solely ahead of her, like she was engrossed in some program on television._

_ "Hey, Mom," he said cheerfully._

_ She turned her head to him slowly, tilting it to one side. It was almost like she didn't recognize him at first. "You. You're not supposed to be home yet."_

_ "Wh... Practice got out," he said, frowning._

_ "No, Arthur, you shouldn't be here..." She sprang to her feet, something sharp and shining in her hands._

_ He took a half step back when he saw the knife she brandished. "What are you talking about?"_

_ "Leave! Now."_

_ "Mom, I just _got_ here!"_

_ "Just... go. For a little while, just go," she pleaded. "You should... You should go back. You should go back because Penelope and I, we have things to discuss..."_

_ While he tried to figure out what was wrong with his mother, his other senses began picking up the clues. Since when did they have a copper mine in their living room? Or was it iron? It was metallic, out of the ordinary, out of place. As he assessed the placement of everything in the living room, which looked exactly how it was supposed to, he saw something odd on the beige carpet. Something that looked like blood._

_ His eyes followed the trail back toward where he saw feet sticking out from behind the entertainment center. _What Mom must've been watching, _he realized. "Penelope?"_

_ "Leave!" she screeched. "Right now!"_

_ Arthur shoved past his mother, ignoring the potential _danger_ in her hands, rushing into the room. "God..."_

_ Adrenaline took over when he saw his sister, sitting in a pool of her own blood. She was breathing, but it was shallow. She blinked, but it was slower than normal._

_ "What have you done!" he demanded._

_ "It doesn't matter anymore. It's too late."_

_ Desperate to try to stop the bleeding, or at least keep some kind of pressure on the gashes in his sister's wrists, he removed his uniform top, tearing the thick cotton in two pieces, tying one on each wrist before lifting her into his arms._

_ "Arthur..."_

_ He walked past her, back out of the house and to his truck. He didn't remember how he got to the hospital, just that he kept looking over at Penelope, seeing her eyes droop from time to time, begging her to hold on._

Eames drained what was left in his glass and filled both his and Arthur's again, more generously that time, after listening to the point man's memory.

Arthur gratefully accepted the glass. "Before Mom could go to trial, she had a medical evaluation, they put her back on her medications. She overdosed three days later. Dad and I never quite saw eye to eye after that. He chose to remember Mom as some kind of saint. I chose to remember her as my sister's would-be killer." He tipped his glass back, taking a long drink. "Point of this story... The dream-like state was always a theory. Why not? The brain only uses a small fraction of what it's actually capable of utilizing, but when Penelope woke up, she remembered the clarity of thought she'd had while bleeding on the living room floor. She realized the subconscious could be accessed while awake. She became obsessed with the idea." Arthur sighed, but it quickly turned into a yawn.

Eames smiled to himself, glancing casually at his watch. _Right on time_, he thought. He'd barely had time to stand, feigning the need to stretch, when Ariadne walked in.

"Hey," Arthur managed, looking back at the new arrival.

She smiled softly at him, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. "Are you ready?"

Arthur looked at Eames, but the forger was making himself more at home, turning on one of the worktable lights and setting up some of his equipment, or what Arthur assumed was equipment. "Eames, what is this?"

"For starters, you shouldn't say 'what,' because Ariadne is most definitely a 'who.' Who she is, at this particular moment, is your designated driver."

"You shouldn't have come," Arthur said to Ariadne before tossing to Eames: "Because I'm not leaving."

"That's where you're wrong, darling. Penelope isn't scheduled to wake up for another twelve hours yet. You're going to get rest." He looked at Ariadne and Arthur, standing together. "Of _some_ description."

"Eames-"

"She's not going anywhere. Don't worry."

Ariadne slipped her hand into Arthur's. "C'mon," she persuaded gently.

"Booze is yours, as is the file of course," Eames told Arthur. "Cobb may want to take a look at it in the morning."

Arthur regarded the forger for a long moment.

Eames sighed a little, rather playfully put-upon. "I'm doing you a favor here. Don't go getting used to it."

Slowly, Arthur nodded. He couldn't bring himself to thank the forger, but he did appreciate the thorough research into the man who harmed his sister, as well as the reprieve from watching her. As much as he hated to admit it, his sister had been right. He did _trust_ the forger. At least, somewhat.

Eames dipped his head slightly in return.

Ariadne wasn't sure what unspoken communication had passed between the two men, but there was, at the very least, an understanding between them.

Arthur started to leave, but stopped suddenly. "If she wakes early, you'll call-"

"Just go," Eames said, shooing them both out.

When they finally left, he glanced at Penelope. He realized that moment was the first time he'd been alone with her in reality. After all that time in the dreamworld together, they hadn't actually met. He hadn't held her or danced with her or even kissed her. It had all been a lie. While the memories of _seeing _it happen were fresh in his mind, the sensations were long since lost.

He reached out, brushing a lock of her dark hair back from her face. It was silky, soft. He barely grazed her smooth, porcelain skin with his fingertips in the process.

Exhaling, he let her sleep. He headed to the desk he'd taken over. He still had some things he needed to accomplish before the morning.

* * *

The first thing she was aware of was the vehement need her stomach had to expel its contents. When she opened her eyes, she barely recognized the location as the workshop her brother had first brought her to before remembering the placement of the bathroom within the warehouse. Her head felt funny, dizzy almost, as she burst through the door, reaching the commode just in time. There didn't seem to be much in her stomach that warranted escape, quickly moving from bile to just dry heaves.

He woke to the clattering heavy sound of footsteps and someone running into things. Eames rubbed at his eyes, seeing the mildly destructive wake Penelope had left in her path on her journey across the floor. He winced at the sounds that echoed through the tiny bathroom and into the rest of the warehouse as well. Stealthily, he padded toward her, standing just on the other side of the nearly closed door. "Penelope? Are you all right, love?" he asked as he heard the toilet flush.

She jumped at the voice. She didn't recognize the accent at first. It all came back to her in an overwhelming deluge. Her lab partner, Clay, and his family. Her encounters with Lawrence Dillon before her Encapsulation. Vague memories of a British diplomat with music, dancing, a church and a kiss. She nearly crumpled under the weight of the memories, under the realization of what had happened to her. Her knees threatened to dump her onto the cold concrete at her feet. She held desperately onto the sink. "Mr. Eames?" she ventured, as if she weren't sure she could believe or even trust her mind.

He smiled a little. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," she admitted, turning on the faucet. She rinsed her mouth out before splashing some water on her face. The cool sensation was nice but it did little to give her legs back strength or to stop her head from swimming.

If Eames hadn't known better, he would've said she looked drunk or high as she staggered out of the bathroom. Of course, as he checked his watch, he realized she should've still been asleep, under the influence of Yusuf's chemicals. "You've been asleep quite a while."

"What day is it?" she asked, running her fingers through her dark hair.

"It's just after three o'clock Sunday morning."

She looked up at him, blinking. "Sunday..." The last thing she remembered clearly had been going to sleep Friday after work for the mission. The mission that wasn't the mission that... She closed her eyes as a new wave of dizziness flowed. "That explains why my head is still... like... like I'm trying to think through layers of quilt batting. Or... or thick fog."

"Come, sit down," he said, offering her his hand.

She looked at his outstretched palm for a moment. When she looked back at his face, he looked so earnest, so trustworthy. She placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth immediately. They were rough hands. Hands that, despite his outward appearance-his dress and mannerisms-were used to hard work.

"I should phone your brother."

"You just said it's three AM."

"Yes, but he asked that he be notified when you woke," he said as he guided her back to her chair.

As she eased back into it, allowing her muscles to remember the particular curvature of the lounger, she closed her eyes for a moment. "What time did you convince him to go home?" she asked knowingly.

He smiled, somewhat impressed, as he sat down on the chair beside her. "Midnight."

"So, knowing Arthur, he didn't fall asleep until at least one, one thirty... which means we're right at cranky time. Let my brother sleep, Mr. Eames." She looked over at him, taking in the particular hue of his eyes and the dark patches beneath them. "Let me guess... you've had an hour of sleep, give or take fifteen minutes?"

"Thereabouts," he admitted.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she said, frowning.

"I'm not." While he was fairly sleep deprived, he was somewhat certain that a pink tinge took to her cheeks.

"Y'know, I don't think we've been formally introduced."

"I guess formalities don't count when we're asleep, do they?"

"No," she said with a smile. It took some effort, but she sat up and offered him her hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Eames. I'm..." She started to tell him her full name, but she didn't. "I'm Penny."

He grinned, taking her hand in his. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Penny."

* * *

Coming Attractions...

Lines from the next installment:

They maneuvered through the crowded airport, finding the VIP lounge for their airline. Eames opened the door for her, allowing her to walk through. She still couldn't believe that he'd arranged for them to fly _first class_, let alone have access to the cushy-looking bar.

When they walked in, a Japanese gentleman in a tailored suit stood from where he'd been seated on a bar stool.

Eames chuckled. "I didn't expect a personal greeting."

"I had other business to attend to in New York. I thought I might welcome you."

"Penny, this is Mr. Saito," Eames began, "CEO of Proclus Global and owner of our airline. Saito, this is-"

Saito held a hand out to Penelope. "I've heard so much about you," he said, gesturing toward the bar's high-definition flat-screen television.


	15. Epilogue

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Cobb, Ariadne and Yusuf keep each other updated on Arthur throughout the day, and Cobb tries to get in touch with Eames, but the forger isn't returning any of the extractor's calls. Eames is busy working his connections to figure out more information about Lawrence Dillon, going so far as to call Saito in Japan. Armed with a prepared report, Eames finally drops in on Arthur, and Arthur tells Eames exactly where Penelope got her scars before the forger sends the point man home with Ariadne. Penelope wakes early, in the middle of the night, and finally gets introduced properly to Eames.

* * *

When Arthur arrived at the warehouse the next morning, he'd been ready to throttle Eames for not waking the point man as promised. But one look from Penelope had eroded any anger. He'd finally gotten _his_ sister back.

The next week tumbled by in an odd haze for Penelope. She spent the majority of her waking hours under the influence of a cocktail of Yusuf's chemicals, accessing her dream-like state to recall all of her research with Clay. She had to start from scratch, as the hard copies of her research had mysteriously vanished the week she'd been Encapsulated.

Arthur and Ariadne had stayed to oversee the work being done in the warehouse, while Cobb and Eames hopped a plane south for a few days. With some counterfeit credentials, the two were able to bypass the tight security at the Pentagon and visit with Lawrence Dillon.

The official exuded easy confidence and friendliness, talking amiably with the British attachés about concerns over the use of shared-dreaming in the interrogation of prisoners. The right against self-incrimination was imperative, after all. Dillon had likened it to a polygraph: inadmissible in courts of justice but beneficial for the war on terror.

Cobb had been the one to mention the dream-like state first as a counteractive measure to the invasive Extractions. Being that Cobb was one of the best extractors in the business, he was interested in the official's response.

Dillon had waved it off as hooey, as bunk before quickly ending the meeting.

Eames, who had been using every trick he knew to remain seemingly impartial and in-character, broke only briefly, when Dillon offered the forger his hand. While Eames accepted the gesture and the handshake, his blue-green eyes weren't able to hide his real feelings about the man who could've easily killed someone he'd come to... well, he wasn't sure what he felt about Penelope, but he knew that the military official had abused his power with regards to her and had even _killed_ to prevent scientific progress from being made.

As the forger now waited to get through airport security at JFK in New York for the second time in a week, he wondered what Dillon was thinking now. Now that Penelope's research was everywhere.

Once she'd gotten everything written up, they disbursed it to every major college in the United States as well as certain universities overseas, to every major media outlet. The news spread like wildfire. The world was abuzz with the proof of a dream-like state.

Eames had feared her life would be in danger from the more unscrupulous members of the government. While they had been sure to include information about Dillon's involvement in using Encapsulation as a defense against the truth, that didn't mean that Penelope was necessarily safe.

The day after they revealed everything to the world, her apartment had been ransacked and her lab had been thoroughly destroyed. The forger had enough foresight to consider that outcome and created a contingency. While Arthur hadn't approved, he knew it was the only way.

Eames looked over, seeing Penelope further ahead in her security line, showing the guard her new passport and ID, ones he had forged. He smiled to himself when he saw her pass through the metal detector and on to the passenger-only area with no trouble. Casually, he sent a text message to Arthur, relaying that.

Before he had the chance to check the return message, he'd arrived at the metal-detector, passport and ticket checkpoint, sliding through easily on his own fake ID. Once he made it through, he saw that Arthur had sent him back, not a thank you, but a warning to keep an eye on her, to keep her safe. "Naturally, darling," he muttered, dropping his phone back into his pocket.

Penelope smiled at Eames as he crossed toward her. "Hey..."

"Told you everything would be fine, didn't I?"

"Seems you were right," she said as they fell in step with each other, continuing through the concourse.

"Try to remember that, love," he said with a wink, causing her smile to brighten even more.

They maneuvered through the crowded airport, finding the VIP lounge for their airline. Eames opened the door for her, allowing her to walk through. She still couldn't believe that he'd arranged for them to fly _first class_, let alone have access to the cushy-looking bar.

When they walked in, a Japanese gentleman in a tailored suit stood from where he'd been seated on a bar stool.

Eames chuckled. "I didn't expect a personal greeting."

"I had other business to attend to in New York. I thought I might welcome you."

"Penny, this is Mr. Saito," Eames began, "CEO of Proclus Global and owner of our airline. Saito, this is-"

Saito held a hand out to Penelope. "I've heard so much about you," he said, gesturing toward the bar's high-definition flat-screen television. "Your intelligence and reputation certainly proceed you."

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Saito," Penelope said, placing her hand in his.

"I have to say," he began, "I'm quite impressed with your discoveries. It's possible to teach this to others, the ability to access the subconscious while waking?"

She smiled coyly, answering the _unasked_ question. "I'd be more than happy to train your subconscious. We'd need a little more time and some specialized equipment, but I'm sure that we can arrange it. At your convenience, of course."

Saito chucked, glancing at Eames, who could only shrug. "Excellent. I look forward to learning from you. Now, I must warn you... Beware, traveling with this one." He clapped the forger on the shoulder. "While he makes for interesting company, there's always the potential for danger."

"I tried to tell you that the kind of work we do, it's not for tourists..." Eames reminded.

Penelope watched the exchange, noticing that tell-tale crinkles took to the corners of the businessman's eyes. While, clearly, she was missing some kind of inside joke, it was nice to see that they had a definite rapport.

"I seem to remember there was something _beneficial_ about our arrangement."

"Certainly the tickets don't hurt," said the forger, smiling and patting the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

"Quite a bit of travel, going from one side of the world to the other," Saito commented.

"Seeing as how I've never actually left U.S. soil... There's a lot I think I should see," said Penelope. "And I cannot thank you enough for your help here..."

Saito considered it a further investment in the future of Proclus Global. With his subconscious trained, perhaps those of his lead engineers and scientists as well, his company could be at the forefront of _every_ major energy decision. "I'm just not sure why, of all the places in the world to go, you pick Mombasa."

"Seems I have a job offer," Penelope answered easily.

"You remember Yusuf as well," said Eames.

"Ah, yes, our enterprising chemist. Of course, having a forger nearby doesn't hurt either, does it?"

Penelope remembered Arthur's comment during the discussion process, of figuring out where to go. He'd called Mombasa a double-edged sword. Having the ability to continue her work was important to the point man. Having the forger live so close was more of a detraction for him. Her brother's thoughts weren't necessarily her own. "It'll be nice, having people around that I know."

Saito's Blackberry issued a gentle reminder noise. "Well, certainly I'll know where to find you," he said. "Unfortunately, I must get to another engagement. Mr. Eames, always a pleasure," he said, shaking the forger's hand.

"Likewise," returned Eames.

"And I very much look forward to working with you," Saito said, taking Penelope's hand before heading toward the door. He called back over his shoulder, to the bartender. "Whatever they'd like," he said. "On the house."

"Yes, sir," said the bartender.

Saito looked at Eames and Penelope one last time. "Safe travels."

Eames waited until the door was closed and the businessman was gone before whispering to Penelope's hair. "I bloody well hope so, seeing as how he _owns_ the airline."

* * *

Ariadne packed the last of her gear, looking over at Cobb, who was still pacing the length of the warehouse, making sure they'd left nothing behind. "Hey, Cobb...?"

He glanced up. "Yeah?"

"We did the right thing here, didn't we?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Unleashing the _bomb_ on the world, with Penelope's discovery. There's a lot of potential for _evil_ with it, isn't it?"

"No. The discovery itself doesn't have the potential for evil. There are those who might use it for evil, but... Penelope made a scientific breakthrough, one of the most important ones since the discovery of shared-dreaming technology. What people choose to do with that knowledge isn't up to us. This kind of science, it can build. It can grow. It can snowball, for lack of a better analogy. While there may be some unintended consequences..." He shrugged. "There are those to any and everything. We can't police an idea once it's out there in the ether. It's not our job and it shouldn't be."

"I guess it's just that sometimes even scientists regret their contributions... She wasn't so sure about her work on Encapsulation. She became the victim of her own science."

"That was an unfortunate turn of events... but we were able to counter it."

"This whole incident, it doesn't turn your definition of reality on its head? She was so sure that everything was right in her world, when she was missing huge chunks of time. She'd lost track of the people she cared about. They didn't exist anymore."

Cobb took a slow breath.

"Who's to say we aren't missing something? Right now, there's some big hole somewhere because some bureaucrat decided we knew too much?"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out his totem. He set the top to spinning on the empty desk beside him.

They both watched. Only Ariadne held her breath.

When it toppled onto its side, he scooped it up and dropped it in his pocket again. "There are still clues. There are ways to undo the damage."

Ariadne watched as Cobb began his sweep of the building again. He'd certainly been able to change. Even when faced with peculiar waterspouts, she hadn't seen Cobb's late wife anywhere in the dreamworld. Maybe he was right.

* * *

Arthur leaned against the hood of his rental car, parked in short-term lot outside JFK airport, with his arms crossed over his chest. It was an odd turn of events, where his sister was now forced to go on the run and he was the respectable one, able to stay home, to have a legitimate job. He'd been a point man, a kind of criminal, for so long, he wasn't sure he could change gears like that. He appreciated the effort, but the straight and narrow life wasn't for him, not unless there was still the razor's edge of danger about it.

He wasn't sure how he felt about Penelope going to Mombasa with Eames and Yusuf. Yusuf, while a phenomenal chemist, had his weakness and that was money. It wasn't that he didn't trust the man, it was that he didn't trust what someone might _offer_ to the chemist in exchange for information on his sister.

That was the _criminal_ part of his mind at work again.

Eames had a certain suaveness, a certain appealing nature. While he'd never fallen for the act, he knew it could be enticing to others. He didn't expect that the forger would turn on his sister, but the man would have to work, and that would mean leaving Mombasa from time to time.

Given that Arthur had to work, too, that meant he couldn't stay stationary for long either.

There were too many variables he couldn't control, and he didn't like it. His job had always been to see every outcome, to plan for any contingency. Her leaving the country made that difficult. And, he'd always done his best to protect his sister. Now that she was trying to protect him by offering him legal employment, it unsettled him. It was different and new.

He wasn't sure he'd get used to it.

He sighed heavily, thinking about the two items that had been left with him before Penelope and Eames checked their bags curbside. The first resided on his left hand. He lifted it, feeling the aged leather. It needed some conditioning to get back to its former glory, but, then again, so did he. He hadn't fielded a ball in a while.

Shucking the baseball glove, he rested it on the hood of the car before finding the envelope in the back pocket of his slacks. Eames had made the point man promise to open it away from security, from prying eyes.

While there were some security cameras in the area, they were mostly in the long-term lot. Cracking the seal, he looked at the contents. The small blue booklet was easily identifiable as a passport. Confusion crossed his features as he removed it, opening it.

His photo was on the first page, but the information around it was entirely incorrect. His name was certainly not _Aloysius Hockenberry._ He flipped through the rest of the passport, finding a Rhode Island driver's license with the same information. On the last page was a post-it note that read: "So you can visit your sister."

"Thanks, Eames. I think."

* * *

End.


End file.
